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IN AND OUT OF 
ANDERSONVILLE 
PRISON 




BY W. F. LYON 



In and Out 

of 

Andersonville Prison 



by ,. 
W. F. Lyon 

Comp'y C, 9th Rea't Minn. Vol. Inf. 



Seventeen years supervisor of penmanship 
in?Detroit Public Schools 



SECOND EDITION. 



Copyright, 1905; by W. F. liyoii. 



Detroit, Michigan 

Geo. Harland Co., Publishers 

91-93 Shelby Street 

1907 



Hon 



Lovingly dedicated to my Wife 
4nd family. 



fir; 




(ilAyu iAA/t^ 




Lovingly dedicaled to my Wife 
4nd Family. 



at 



■EQUEBTOF 
WALTER R. STEINER 
JAN. 20, IMS 



/ 67 



PREFACE 



Do you ask why I have written this story? 

"Lest we forget." 

There is danger that the young people of to- 
day, while enjoying the comforts and bless- 
ings of this great nation, may lose sight of 
the conflict through which men passed that 
their children and children's children might be 
free. 

I have attempted to present only facts and 
to present them in such a way that children 
as well as older people may understand them. 

The Author. 



/7i 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Frontispiece, opposite 4 

The Camp 11 

The Retreat 16 

The Author on Entering Service, oposite. 16 

The Capture 30 

Captain Wirtz 29 

Entering the Prison 33 

Tunnelling Out 48 

The Prison, opposite 48 

An Incident 52 

Providence Spring 5p 

Clothing and Beds 67 

Reminiscence 59 

Morning Duties 63 

Providence Spring as it Appears Today, 

opposite 64 

Morals QQ 

Vigilance Committee 70 

Diseases and Death 72 

How Tom Helped Me Out When I Was 

Released 75 

A Backward Glance 77 

In Prison at Savannah 79 

Millen Prison 80 



The Author on Leaving Andersonville. ... 83 

Leaving Millen Prison 84 

First Sight of the Old Flag 89 

Homeward Bound 93 

Statistics 96 

Homesickness 99 

The Cemetery 102 

Some Figures 104 

The Contrast 106 

Southern Testimony 110 

The Hospital 115 

After-Thoughts 120 



THE CAMP. 



On the first day of June, 1864, Major- 
General Sturgis left the- city of Memphis, 
Tenn., with 10,000 men, artillery, cavalry and 
infantry, with orders to intercept General For- 
est, who was operating in northern Missis- 
sippi. The writer was one of this company, 
occupying the conspicuous position of "high 
private" in the front rank. 

We traveled twenty miles by rail to Fayette, 
where we left the railroad and started on our 
march. The first afternoon we marched about 
five miles and then halted for the night. Camp- 
ing out as the term applies to soldiering was 
entirely a new experience to most of us. We 
carried no tents, but each man carried his own 
blanket, his gun, forty rounds of cartridges, 
three days' rations in his haversack, his cook- 
ing utensils, a canteen of water, etc. 

Fires were kindled ; a spring was found, and 
water secured; coffee ground and boiled; and 
supper, consisting of coffee, hardtack and 
bacon, was prepared. This eaten and the tin 
cup put away (we didn't have plates — didn't 



need them), the beds were made in the fol- 
lowing manner : Two men together found as 
smooth a place as possible; one spread his 
blanket on the ground; both put their cart- 
ridge boxes down for pillows, then lay down 
and covered themselves with the other blanket. 
If the stars were shining nothing hindered 
counting them until the "sandman" closed the 
tired eyes, and the soldier sank into that other 
world to dream of home and mother, wife or 
sweetheart, whom, alas ! many of them were 
never to see again save in those sweet dreams. 

At three in the morning we were quietly 
awakened and ordered to be ready to march 
in an hour. Fires were quickly started, coffee 
put on and in a very short time we were par- 
taking of breakfast — bacon, hardtack, and cof- 
fee, a slight change in the menu of the previous 
evening. The bugle sounded and we were on 
the move. We had not proceeded far when 
black thunder clouds rolled up and soon the 
rain came down in torrents, accompanied by 
southern thunder and lightning. 

This shower left us wet to the skin, and pro- 
duced most affectionate results in the soil. It 
clung to our shoes like a country lover to his 
sweetheart on their first excursion. We halted 
beside a high rail fence, which stretched along 



the road for miles. This fence was quickly 
put into piles, matches applied, and a long line 
of fires were soon burning, around which we 
gathered to dry our clothing and toast our 
bacon. 

One word more about the soil. As we pro- 
ceeded on the march we found that this red 
clay soil had assumed the slipping qualities 
of 'Tear's Soap," so that when we attempted 
to move forward we seemed to move back- 
ward, and after a few days of this kind of 
travel many of us were inclined to go the other 

way. 

It is a notable fact that in this particular 
neck o' the woods in that particular month of 
June, it rained twenty-one days in succession. 

Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until 
the tenth day out. The heat was intense and 
the rain abundant, coming in installments. We 
did not halt that night until about 11 p. m. It 
was dark, and when we halted it was raining 
whole water. Some one had selected our 
camping ground in a small wood near a beau- 
tiful spring. We stacked our arms by fixing 
bayonets and sticking the bayonets in the 
ground to keep the guns from filling with 
water. 



13 



One thing we found there, which the 
officers may or may not have known about, 
was a lot of cotton in bales carefully stored 
in an old log house. This was soon known 
to "high privates," and we all made a rush 
for it. The bands were stripped off the bales, 
and the white, fluffy stuff was soon gathered 
up by armfuls and borne away. I had two 
comrades at that time. They were a little in 
advance of me and got their arms full first, 
so that when I got back to camp the bed was 
made and I had a surplus of cotton. The cap- 
tain was not far away, but of course he had 
no cotton, and I stepped over and asked him 
if he would like some. He said he didn't mind 
if I had any to spare. So I handed it over to 
him and went back to my doivny couch. Never 
had I dreamed before what the land of cotton 
really meant — "All things there am soon for- 
gotten. Look away." 

Yes, we were soon lost in that beautiful 
dreamland; but when the morning dawned, 
bright and clear, the first thing that we heard 
was this order : "Every man who had any- 
thing to do with that cotton will at once, with- 
out delay, put it back where he found it." We 
thought then it was a nightmare instead of a 
dream. But, like good little boys, we went 

14 



and put it back. I gathered up the captain's 
and put that back. Then a second order, 
"Every man who had anything to do with tha<- 
cotton, will be put under guard and marched 
in the rear of the regiment in disgrace." We 
thought like the Irishman, that it was "ketchin' 
before hangin','' so we decided not to go until 
ordered. 

The bugle sounded, "Fall in!" and we fell 
in. I stood in the front rank. I was covered 
with cotton from head to foot. It wouldn't 
come off. The captain walked slowly down 
the line, examining each one. When he came 
to me he said in an undertone, "You look 
pretty well." I took the compliment grace- 
fully without a word, and he passed on. I 
didn't go to the rear because he didn't tell me 
to. Our regiment was rear-guard that day, 
so we were the last to leave the ground. As we 
moved off some one went to the spring to fill 
his canteen, and as he passed the house, he 
lighted a match, threw it into the house and 
liurried into his place. As we passed over 
the hill we saw the smoke. The speculating 
officers who had hoped to get that cotton to 
market were doubtless disappointed. 



IS 



THE RETREAT. 



That afternoon we met the enemy and he 
was ours for a little while — i. e., he was our 
enemy, and was a little too much for us. While 
the fight was progressing, General Sturgis, 
who was said to be drunk, ordered a retreat, 
and we retreated. We didn't exactly run, but 
we walked as fast as we could. Most of us 
succeeded in getting back about fifty miles to- 
ward Memphis before being overtaken by the 
enemy. 

If you have never witnessed a disorderly 
retreat, there is a chapter in your life which 
can never be filled by any three-ringed circus 
on earth, with the animals all let loose. Imag- 
ine if you can — and that is all you can do — 
10,000 men with the artillery and cavalry- 
horses rushing about like mad and 1,200 mules 
cut loose from the wagon trains, all mixed in 
one conglomerate mass and all trying to reach 
Memphis, 100 miles away, and each wishing 
to be first to tell the tale. 

To show that General Sturgis either was 
not in his right mind, or was exceedingly 
stupid, I would call attention to the position 



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As the author appeared on entering service. 



of his train of 200 wagons drawn by about 
1,200 mules. About four miles from where 
the engagement took place was a wide swamp 
which the recent rains had made almost impas- 
sable. Through this swamp the train had been 
taken and corralled in an open field within half 
a mile of the firing line. This field was en- 
closed by a high rail fence, with an opening 
of about fifty feet where the road entered the 
field. To retreat, this long train must pass 
through this narrow space, and if it succeeded 
in getting to the swamp it would require a 
long time and great effort to recross it. 

Here in this open field, in plain view of the 
enemy, lay this prize. Of course he trained 
his guns to cover the retreat of the train and 
poured shot and shell into it. 

Some one, when it was too late, saw the 
mistake. A group of officers rode up. One 
of them said to the wagonmaster, "Get these 
mules out of here; if you can't get them out 
any other way, cut them loose and let them go." 
Toward the gap they started. I stepped be- 
hind a tree and watched the performance. The 
mules came tearing and the drivers came 
swearing. The air was full of circus language. 
That is the kind of language they use when 
they are tearing up, and things do not go just 

17 



as everyone would like. When this was over, 
the artillery came down the road, then the 
cavalry, and lastly the mob of men. By this 
time night was coming on, and so were the 
rebels. We fell back into the woods; officers 
were no better than men, and men weren't 
so good as horses, because they couldn't go 
as fast. 

When the darkness really settled, the confu- 
sion was like that which prevailed when the 
people tried to build a tower and their plans 
were frustrated. Every man was calling for 
his regiment and company, and so many were 
calling at the same time that a person couldn't 
understand himself. 

In this way we traveled all that night, reach- 
ing Ripley, Miss., thirty miles from our inter- 
ception performance, at ten o'clock the next 
morning. 

We stopped a few minutes for breakinst, 
but didn't succeed in getting much. From what 
I saw of it, I should judge that Ripley was a 
pleasant place, or might be under other cir- 
cumstances, but we did not have time to exam- 
ine it, for the rebels were coming, and we hur- 
ried on. I was partially sun-struck the day 
before, and about noon, when the sun was 
pouring down upon us, my head began to hurt, 

18 



and I left the line and took to the woods. Find- 
ing a quiet ravine about one hundred feet deep, 
I went down into its shady depths, and spread 
out my rubber blanket by a little spring of 
water. After taking two or three good drinks 
from the spring, I lay down and listened to 
the rumble of the fleeing thousands and to the 
pursuing rebels. When all was over and I 
knew that I was cut off, I went to sleep, having 
first planned what I would do at night. 

Just before going into the ravine a lieuten- 
ant from another company came along, and I 
said to him : "Lieutenant, let us take to the 
woods and wait until night." "No," he said, 
"I can't stop here; I must go on." I was cap-, 
tured that night, and the next rorning I saw 
the lieutenant lying in the road, dead. He 
was shot from behind while going up a hill. I 
probably should have shared his fate if I had 
stayed with him. 



THE CAPTURE. 



About nine o'clock I awoke and realized that 
I was alone in a strange wood in an enemy's 
country, and must work out my own salvation, 
which I proceeded to do with fear and trem- 
bling. It was black darkness all around and 
was raining. I rolled up my blanket and 
started, struck the road as I had planned, and 
was enabled to keep it by the tracks the horses 
had made. At one time my trousers had col- 
lected so much mud around the bottom that 
they were burdensome, and I decided to lighten 
them, so I took out my knife and began cut- 
ting off one leg a few inches from the bottom. 
I soon found that I was cutting too high, so 
I cut down a way, then up and then down, 
until the circle was completed. I proceeded 
with the other in like manner, with about the 
same result. When I looked at those legs in 
the morning, I smiled, and I think you would 
have smiled, too. But the load was gone and 
I could travel better. I saw a light ahead, 
found it was a camp fire, crept around it, and 
went on. I had traveled in this way about 
nine miles when I came to an opening in the 

20 



woods. Tne ciouds just then seemed to sep- 
arate a little, and I thought I saw something 
gray lying beside the road. While I was look- 
ing at it I walked up against something. Put- 
ting out my hands, I found that I had run up 
against a horse tied to a tree with the bridle. 
I quietly untied him and mounted. He was 
standing perfectly still, but shortly moved for- 
ward a few steps, then stopped. All my work- 
ing of the reins and prodding in the ribs with 
my heels was of no avail. He simply wouldn't 
go. I could see no reason why. In fact, I 
could not see anything. I could not even see 
this horse on which I sat, which was one of 
the cream color sort. While I was making 
desperate efforts in as quiet a way as possible 
to make him go, I was surprised by hearing 
some one say, in a sort of stage whisper, 
"Who's dat?" Surprise is too mild a term. I 
was scared, but didn't say a word. The voice 
seemed to come from the ground and so near 
to my horse that if the fellow had been sitting 
up, I am sure I could have touched him with 
my hand. 

While untying the horse and mounting, 
which didn't occupy more than a minute, I had 
laid my plans. I said, "I'll ride him as far as 
he will go before daylight, then let him go and 

21 



take to the woods." Well planned, and I did 
ride him as far as he would go, but what 
spoiled my plans was that he wouldn't go at 
all. 

As soon as I heard the fellow say, "Who's 
dat?" I quietly slipped off the horse. As my 
feet touched the ground I heard the click of a 
rifle lock, and the command, "Halt!" from a 
man not more than eight feet from me. Well, 
I was halted all right, and I stood still. Again 
came the command, "Halt!" so I just stayed 
halted, and the third command, "Halt!" came. 
I knew then that I must do something. I took 
a couple of steps toward the man and said very 
coolly, "I surrender." He said, "Who are 
you?" "I am a Union soldier." "Have you 
any arms?" "No, sir." "You may come here." 
I walked right up. 

He said, "Where is your hoss?" I said, "I 
let him go; guess he's out here somewhere." 
He said to the darkey, for he it was who 
surprised me, "Sam, find that hoss and bring 
him up here." Sam went out, got the hoss 
and brought him up. Pretty soon he said, 
"Massa, da's one of our bosses gone." The 
man said to me, "Where did you get that 
hoss?" "I found him out here." "You tryin' 
to ride off one of our bosses?" "I didn't 

22 



know whose it was. I found him and thought 
I would use him." 

I felt around on the ground and found a 
saddle, and asked the man whether I might 
use it for a pillow. He said I might. So I 
stretched myself out and covered myself up 
with my rubber blanket, and was very soon 
sound asleep. 

As nearly as I could judge it was about mid- 
night when I was halted. I awoke at day- 
light and heard someone talking. On get- 
ting up I saw several guerillas talking to a 
man whom they had just halted. He proved 
to be one of my own company. They had 
captured two before I came up. Very soon 
they stood us in line and talked among them- 
selves, then asked us if we had, any money. 
I had about four dollars in greenbacks. They 
took it, took my knife, my rubber blanket — all 
but my testament. I showed that to the head 
man and said to him, "I suppose you will let 
me keep this." "Yes," he said, *'if you will 
read it." Good idea, steal all a fellow has, 
and then advise him to read the Bible. If that 
fellow lived here he would be a politician. 

I had on a good hat that I had purchased 
in St. Louis for two dollars only a short time 
before. A fellow came along and took it off 

23 



my head and put it on his own, and put an 
old one on mine that wasn't worth ten cents 
Quick trade and no talking back, but I thought 
some thmgs. ^ 

After getting all they could from us, they 
talked some more among themselves, and then 
put us under two men on horseback and 
marched us back about five miles over the road 
I had traveled the night before, where we 
found 600 of our men who had been captured 
that night and morning. 

Just before starting out a young fellow 
espied my boots, a pair which my father had 
made for me just before I went south Thev 
were worth fifty dollars in greenbacks down 
there. "Got on boots, eh?" -Yes, but thev 
are too big for you." "What size are they.?'' 
''No, 9's." They were covered with mud so 
the men couldn't see what they were. Noth- 
ing more was said about them. I sold them 
in Andersonville for four dollars. 

But as Samantha Allen says, "To resume 
backwards," I passed this same place the night 
before and must have gone within twenty feet 
of the guard. I heard the horses eating as I 
passed, but did not run agamst any of them 

Almost the first man I met that I recognized 
was my captain. Instead of his fine uniform 



24 



of the day before, he had on an old ragged 
suit such as was worn by privates, an old 
hat and he was barefoot. "Well," I said, 
"captain, where are your boots?" "I set them 
down by that plum tree and some fool stole 
them," He was a dejected looking object. I 
said to him, "I have on a pair of good woolen 
socks. They are better than nothing. You 
may have them." So I pulled off my boots 
and gave him my socks and put on my boots 
without them. He marched beside me all 
that day in his stocking feet. For once I out- 
ranked the captain. 

It soon began to rain. About noon they 
put us in line, as I remember, in the follow- 
ing order (the guards were all mounted) ; four 
guards on horseback, then eight prisoners on 
foot, of course; then four more guards, etc., 
etc., to the end of the line. We made quite an 
imposing spectacle. We felt quite imposed 
upon, to say the least. We marched fifteen 
miles that day, which was Sunday, and thirty 
miles the next day, which wasn't Sunday by 
a long way. When we passed through Rip- 
ley, I saw General Forest, who impressed me 
as being a very bright officer. If he had been 
on our side, I think I should have been quite 
proud of him. 

25 



Never shall I forget that march. The road 
was strewn the whole length with guns, sa- 
bres, clothing of all kinds, broken wagons, 
dead mules, horses and men — everything that 
belongs to and goes with an army. The people 
had come out in many places and gathered up 
the guns, a whole wagon load in a pile. It 
looked like a wonderful waste. No wonder 
General Sherman said that "war is hell," but 
we haven't got there yet. I shall have to in- 
troduce you to that later on, if you care to 
visit it. 

On reaching the battlefield at Guntown, 
known in history as Brice's Cross Roads, we 
were halted and given some hardtack taken 
from our wagons, which they had captured — 
two hardtack to a man. I had been out three 
days and three nights, and had walked 100 
miles, and in all that time had not eaten as 
much as a fourteen-year-old boy will eat for 
his dinner at a single sitting. The principal 
thing that I remember eating during the three 
days was a hardtack vvhich I begged from one 
of the men who captured me. It was round 
and about as thick as a soda cracker, about 
the size of a small tea saucer, and fully as 
hard. I am sure I could have broken a piece 
out of a china saucer with my teeth easier than 



I could break that hardtack. I simply could 
not bite it; I held it in my mouth and worked 
at it the greater part of the forenoon. It was 
the hardest tack I ever saw. It had staying 
qualities. 

That night we were hustled into box cars 
and started south. What our destination was 
we did not know and didn't care much if they 
would only let us rest. 

We arrived at Meridian, Miss., the next 
morning, where we stayed until the following 
morning. Then we started by rail across the 
state of Alabama. At Montgomery, if I re- 
member correctly, we were put on a boat and 
taken up the river a few miles. While wait- 
ing at Montgomery to take the boat, the citi- 
zens came out to see the Yankees. An old man 
right near me said,, 'Took at the poor devils. 
I could lick any six of 'em." A guard stand- 
ing near by who had seen service at the front, 
overheard him. He turned quickly and said 
to him, "Old man, if you think you can lick 
six of 'em, you'd better take your gun and go 
to the front. You'll soon find out how many 
you can lick." 

Without further adventure, except rain and 
heat, and cold nights, hunger, sleeping in rain, 
riding on flat cars, etc., we arrived on Sunday 

27 



afternoon, June 19th, at Andersonville, where, 
as we were looking over into the stockade in 
which we were to spend so many hungry, tired, 
lonely, desperate days, — we took leave of our 
officers, who were to be taken to the officers' 
prison at Charleston, S. C. The captain with 
tears streaming down his cheeks, took us each 
by the hand and we said farewell. 



C I 



28 



CAPTAIN WIRTZ. 



Just about the time we bade our catain fare- 
well, we were introduced to another captain, 
the man who was to be our ruler for an indefi- 
nite length of time. I will try to describe him : 
Height about five feet ten inches; stoop shoul- 
dered; complexion, dark; hair, black; mus- 
tache, black; goatee, black; eyes, black, and a 
heart as black as the fires of hades could burn 
it. It was said that he was a Prussian by 
birth and at one time served in the Prussian 
army, but for some cause was banished. He 
reached this country about the time of the be- 
ginning of the Civil War and in time found 
his way into the South, and when the prison 
was opened at Andersonville he was made as- 
sistant to General Winder, who was command- 
ant of the prison. Upon the death of General 
Winder, Henry Wirtz (for this was the cap- 
tain's name) was promoted to succeed him. 

If the Southern Confederacy had searched 
the whole world they could not have found 
a man more fiendishly qualified to fill this place 
than this same Henry Wirtz. I doubt whether 
the infernal regions could furnish a person of 

29 



more diabolical tendencies than he, unless they 
sent out old Beelzebub himself, and Henry 
Wirtz would hold him a close second. I believe 
he could sit and see his own father roasted over 
a slow fire, or his mother eaten alive by ants 
and never show the tremor of a muscle. This 
brute said he would kill more men in prison 
than the army did at the front, and I am. in- 
clined to think that he did it proportionately 
at least. He used to ride an old white mare — 
what a contrast — a black soul on a white horse. 
He kept a pack of the largest, fiercest, Cuban 
blood-hounds to be found. If a man dared to 
cross him, he would kill him. He kicked one 
poor fellow to death. But enough of him for 
the present. I will merely say that he was 
hanged at Washington at the close of the war, 
not because he was keeper of the prison, but 
for his personal, brutal deeds perpetrated upon 
helpless prisoners. 

By this brute we were formed in columns of 
four, numbered off into detachments of 270 
men each. These detachments were subdi- 
vided into squads of ninety men each. Over 
each squad was placed one of our own ser- 
geants and over the detachments a head ser- 
geant. 

30 



These divisions were made in order that ra- 
tions might be properly distributed, and also 
(which was the principal reason) that the 
rebel sergeant might more easily keep count 
of the men. These rebel sergeants visited the 
prison every morning about nine o'clock, to 
count the men. Each squad would stand in 
two ranks and the sergeant would walk in 
front and count off. The tricks we would 
play on these fellows were amusing. Suppose 
one or more had died during the night. As 
the sergeant passed down the line a man who 
had been counted would slip out of the rear 
rank, run down and be counted again without 
being detected. In this way we kept the dead 
men's rations for some time. 

After the line was completed and every 
man's name, regiment and company had been 
taken by the clerks, we were marched away 
to the prison, which was in plain view, for 
the headquarters of Wirtz, before which we 
had been standing was located on a hill com- 
manding a good view of a large portion of the 
inside of the stockade. It was raining, and 
as we looked we saw men by the hundreds en- 
tirely nude, and wondered why they were in 
that condition. We afterward learned that 

31 



they were taking a shower-bath. It was the 
only real clean water available for bathing pur- 
poses inside the prison. 




32 



ENTERING THE PRISON. 



From the headquarters to the north gate was 
a short quarter of a mile. As the gates swung 
on their heavy hinges, they looked like the 
jaws of some huge monster opening to gather 
us in. Had we known then what we learned 
afterward the illusion would have seemed a 
reality, but the good Father has kindly hidden 
our future from us. The motto, "All who enter 
here leave hope behind" might very properly 
have been placed over this old north gate. 

We had been a week on the road since our 
capture, and were hungry and tired, conse- 
quently the thoughts uppermost in our minds 
were of rest and something to eat. We passed 
through the gate like "dumb driven cattle" — 
and we were treated by our keepers very much 
like cattle. No provision had been made for 
our reception. No place had been assigned 
for this body of 600 men, so each man must 
look out for himself. 

There were fifteen men beside myself from 
Company C, 9th Regiment, Mmnesota Vol- 
unteer Infantry. We were near the head of 
the column and as we passed up the street 

33 



leading directly east from the gate, across the 
prison . grounds, we were surrounded on all 
sides by thousands of hungry, ragged prison- 
ers, all eager for news, and they informed us 
that we should have to make ourselves at home 
and look out for ourselves. Consequently, 
when we had reached a point about half way 
from the gate to the east side, finding a small 
space apparently unoccupied, we stopped, and 
it became our abode for some weeks. After- 
ward, when the prison was enlarged we moved 
farther north. 

I read, not long ago, that our first parents 
must have experienced a strange sensation, 
when, on that first evening they saw the sun 
go down out of sight, not knowing whether 
they should ever see it again — so on this, our 
first evening in Andersonville, when we saw 
the sun set and the night draw her sable mantle 
around us, and saw the stars here and there 
push their tiny heads through he great curtain 
above and around us, and we realized that this 
was our only covering, and the bare, hard 
sand our only resting place, we felt that we 
had passed into a new creation. 

I will now attempt to describe this new 
world, created not by the Almighty, but by 
rr.en whose sole ambition seems to have been 

34 



to stamp out gradually all courage and loyalty 
from the hearts of those who were so unfor- 
tunate as to fall into their hands. 

Anderson, before the war, was an insignifi- 
cant cross-roads in Sumpter County, Georgia. 
It was known as Anderson until several thou- 
sand Yankees were transported there, since 
which time it has been known as Anderson- 
ville. 

The country surrounding it was covered 
with pine trees. The soil is of a reddish, sandy 
clay. The little stream, which rises in a swamp 
just east of the railroad, is about ten feet 
wide in the widest place, and six inches deep. 
This stream does not flow like most streams, 
but just slides along very slowly over its bed 
of yellow sand. It seems to partake of the 
spirit of the inhabitants, too tired to die and 
too lazy to live. 

Back from this stream for a distance of 200 
feet on the north side was a heavy swamp, a 
veritable quagmire; at the northern edge of 
this swamp rose abruptly a hill perhaps thirty 
feet in height. The swamp extended but a short 
distance from the south side of the stream 
and the southern hill was not so high nor so 
steep as that on the north. Around this swamp 
and inclosing quite a tract of land beyond the 

35 



north hill and a small portion of land south 
of the swamp, a high stockade was built. 

Every tree within this inclosure, except two 
tall pines which stood in the southeast corner 
and which cast what little shade their meager 
branches afforded outside of the stockade the 
greater part of the day, were cut down and 
their branches drawn outside before the stock- 
ade was built, leaving a barren waste of stump 
land. These stumps were afterwards worked 
up to the very ends of the roots by the prison- 
ers for fuel with which to cook their food. 
The bodies of the trees were used in the build- 
ing of the stockade. These bodies were cut 
into logs twenty-five feet in length and were 
hewn on four sides. A trench five feet deep 
was dug and these logs were stood upright in 
it, forming a solid wooden wall twenty feet 
high. Not only did this wall fence in the pris- 
ers, but it shut out the fresh air or prevented in 
a large measure its free circulation. The free 
circulation of the air was still further hin- 
' dered by the pine forest which surrounded the 
prison on all sides. Ihis stockade or wall en- 
closed about twenty acres of land; but from 
the inside of the stockade a strip of land 
twenty feet wide on all sides was marked off 
by what was known as the "dead line." This 

36 



"dead line" consisted of stakes three feet high 
with a board three or four inches wide nailed 
to the top, forming a continuous inner fence. 

Imagine yourself in this pit when the sun 
is at the zenith and the mercury above the 100 
mark, and you will have some warm thoughts 
at least. 

At regular intervals of about one hundred 
feet were placed sentry boxes. A platform five 
or six feet square was built against the outside 
of the stockade and near enough to the top 
so that a boy of fourteen could stand upon it 
and look over the stockade and see what was 
going on inside. Over this platform was placed 
a roof of boards to shelter the sentry from the 
sun and rain. The sentry reached this box by 
a ladder. 

A part of the time the sentries were from 
the 3000 regular troops who were stationed 
there. At other times, when the regular troops 
were called away, men too old and boys too 
young to go to the front, did this duty. 

When the latter were on guard, we were 
extremely cautious about going near the dead 
line. They seemed to feel that it was their 
only opportunity for killing Yankees. They 
gave no warning, but let an unsuspecting pris- 
oner place his hand on the b'^ard which marked 

37 



the dead line and the report of the old muskeL 
rang out and some one was shot, it might bt 
the supposed trespasser and it might be an 
innocent person several feet away. When the 
old soldiers occupied the boxes it was different. 
The guard would often enter into conversa- 
tion with the prisoners, always choosing a time 
when the officer of the day was on the other 
side of the prison. 

Many a trade was made with these old sol- 
diers. They were anxious to obtain our brass 
buttons and would give tobacco in exchange 
for them. (They used leather buttons on their 
homespun uniforms). 

When the officer was near, the guard would 
not notice us, but when there was no danger 
he would manifest it in some way. The Yan- 
kee would step up to the dead line and strike 
up a bargain and arrange for a meeting later. 
At the appointed time the guard would tie a 
plug of tobacco to a string, let it down, and 
the Yankee would slip under the dead line 
with his bunch of buttons, untie the string from 
the tobacco and tie the buttons to it, slip back 
under the dead line and the trade was made. 
Of course the other guards were all looking 
the other way at the time. 

There was a bond of fellowship between 

38 



these opposing armies; no matter how fiercely 
they fought on the battlefield, when the fight 
was over they could be good fellows. I have 
long felt that if the old soldiers had been 
allowed to reconstruct matters after the war 
instead of putting them into the hands of the 
politicians, things would have been much 
sooner and much more satisfactorily adjusted. 

The swamp heretofore described cov- 
ered about three acres and was absolutely unfit 
for camping purposes, and was used as a sink 
for the prison. In walking over this, men 
would often sink to their knees in mud and 
filth. Deducting from the twenty acres of the 
original enclosure, the land between the dead 
line and the stockade and that occupied by the 
swamp, we have about sixteen acres of land 
left for the prisoners to occupy. 

V/ell, I hear some one say, "That is a large 
field." It would be quite a parade ground for a 
regiment, but when you put into it an army of 
33,000 men, the number actually present at 
one time, it leaves very little room for even 
the absolute necessities of cooking and sleep- 
ing. 

I have described rather carefully the location 
of the prison, for the reason that I have been 
told that within five miles of this location was 

39 



a much better place, if the heakh of the prison- 
ers had been considered. There was a clear 
running stream of pure water for drinking and 
bathing purposes at the latter place. 

I have said that above the stockade the little 
stream had its rise in a quagmire. Added to 
this the railroad station was so situated that 
all the drainage from that ran into it. On the 
other side of the swamp on high land which 
sloped down toward it, three thousand soldiers 
forming the guard of the prison were en- 
camped, and all the drainage from this camp 
flowed into the swamp. Then on a slight ele- 
vation near the stockade was placed the cook 
house, where the food for one-half the prison 
was cooked, and all the slops from this went 
into the swamp, and in the course of events all 
these slops were mingled in the little stream 
which passed through the prison; and this 
water was all the water that was ever provided 
in any way by the authorities for the prisoners. 

It has been said that the South did all it 
could for the prisoners. This water is only 
one example of their provision. Wood, which 
was an absolute necessity, was withheld from 
us. Wood was abundant. Thousands of cords 
of dry pine lay just outside the gate, but we 
were not permitted to gather it except in very 

40 



meager quantities; and as one-half the prison- 
ers were obliged to cook their food, we were 
compelled to dig the roots out of the ground 
and dry them in the sun and use them for fuel. 
We were not even provided with cooking uten- 
sils, and as nearly all of our cups and plates 
had been taken from us before entering, we 
were ill prepared for housekeeping. Every 
available canteen was utilized. These were 
held over the fire and unsoldered, thus mak- 
ing two large tin saucers from each canteen. 

The process of cooking was as follows : 
Bricks were made of the clay soil ; two of these 
bricks were placed on the ground about five 
inches apart. The half canteen in which the 
coarse cornmeal had been placed with suffi- 
cient water to make a sort of mush, was placed 
on the bricks. Then the cook would take a 
small sliver of pine and go off and get a light, 
put it under the dish, add a few root shavings, 
get down on hands and knees and blow until it 
kindled, then add more shavings, then blow 
some more, repeating the process until he could 
blow no more, or until his fuel was exhausted, 
when he would call it done and eat it. 

I have eaten many a dish of this stuff, half 
cooked. It was simply chicken feed warmed 
through. We never used salt because we could 

41 



not get it I have used the term coaise corn- 
meal. This was such as we feed our horses 
and cattle, never sifted. The hull was all left 
in it, and we thought many times that the cob 
was ground up with it. You see. they gave 
us the hull thing. 

The plan was something like this : One-half 
would get cooked rations for two weeks and 
the other half would get uncooked, then we 
changed about. The rations were brought in 
about 4 o'clock in the afternoon if it did not 
rain. If it rained, we would get nothing until 
the next morning or night. I '-emember that 
on the 4th of July we were forty-eight hours 
without rations. I presume that is the way 
they celebrated there at that time. Before de- 
scribing the manner of distributing rations, I 
will mention another matter which has a bear- 
ing upon the subject. 

The place for depositing the dead as they 
were carried out was in a line with Captain 
Wirtz's headquarters, and in full view from 
the hill. About ten o'clock in the morning an 
army wagon drawn by mules would be driven 
up and the dead piled into it. They were 
thrown in and piled on as a man piles cord- 
wood into a wagon. When no more would 
stay on, the load was driven to the cemetery 

42 



and the team returned for another load. Now 
for the point to the ration story. In the after- 
noon, into this same wagon was thrown our 
rations, meat, bread, cornmeal, etc., and it 
was driven in through the north gate and was 
guarded by eight men with g^ns with bayonets 
fixed. This load was distributed to the detach- 
ment sergeants. These distributed to the ser- 
geants of 90's and these to the various messes 
like our own, each of these having a sergeant 
of its own. The last would divide up so that 
each individual received his share. 

When we drew cooked rations each man got 
a piece of bread six inches long and three 
inches square, and a piece of bacon about an 
inch and a half cube. Only two things. Some- 
times we had beef instead of bacon, and some- 
times two tablespoonfuls of molasses — but only 
two things at a time. When we drew uncooked 
rations it was cornmeal, one pint instead of 
bread, and raw beef or bacon. This bread 
was a wonder. It was baked in large cards 
about 15x20 inches and three inches thick. 
No soda or salt was ever discovered in it. 
They may have been of the invisible kind. 

A ration of either kind must last at least 
twenty-four hours. One could eat it all at 

43 



once and then be hungry, but I made two 
meals of mine, eating my supper or perhaps 
it was dinner at 6 o'clock, and the other meal 
at 9 A. M. When I got the bread I would 
mark off as much as I thought I could spare 
for supper, and stop when I came to the mark, 
but it was mighty hard stopping sometimes. 
What was left over we had to keep in litle 
bags, but I had no bag, so I cut the pockets 
out of my pants, putting my bread in one and 
my meat in the other. This was my pantry. 
A part of the time we received beans in place 
of one of the articles already mentioned. These 
beans were of a peculiar variety — small, speck- 
led red ones — another feature was that they 
were infested with bugs. I think it is not 
exaggerating to say that one in every three 
beans contained a small, black bug. When 
we put these beans in water, some of the bugs 
came to the surface and we skimmed them off. 
Those that did not float we cooked and ate. 
Nothing eatable was allowed to go to waste. 

If a man was sick and unable to eat his meat, 
a comrade would take it, stick it on a sliver 
and walk up and down the street crying, 
"Who's got bread to trade for meat?" Pres- 
ently some one would call out "Here!" and 
then they would banter. One would say, 

44 



"Your oread is too small;" the other would 
say, "Your meat isn't good!" Alter a wordv 
discussion there would either be a trade or a 
fight. It IS surprising to see how much hungry- 
men think ol their honor and how quickly they 
resort to blows i.o defend it. Fights were the 
order of the day. Look in any direction ac 
almost any time of day and you might witness 
from one to a dozen fistic arguments in full 
swing. It was a good place for a young man 
to learn to mind his own business. 

There were places in the prison where fooa 
could be bought at exorbitant prices, as fol- 
lows: 

3 medium sized potatoes $1.0r' 

3 biscuits 1.00 

1 pint wheat flour 1.00 

Etc., etc., etc.. When new recruits came in 
with money they indulged in these luxuries 
for a brief time. 

One night I had a dream which had an ag- 
gravating effect upon me. My mother was 
noted in our home circle for her bread-making. 
I never knew anyone who excelled her in mak 
ing biscuits. They were always just right. 
Her dinners, which were always good, were 
a little better on Sunday than on any other 
day. On this particular night I dreamed that 

45 



I was at home. It was Sunday; we were 
seated at the table; my brother sat opposite 
me. and my father opposite my mother. In 
the middle of the table, which was covered 
with a clean, white cloth, sat a plate of mother's 
biscuits. I couldn't wait for the blessing, but 
reached over and took one from the plate. 
Holding it up, I said, "In Andersonville, three 
biscuits like this would have been worth a dol- 
lar." Just as I was about to put it to my 
mouth I awoke. Imagine my disappointment. 

When we received fresh beef every bit of 
•t was utilized. The bones were boiled and 
then gnawed and the juice sucked out of them. 
I never knew how much pleasure the dog gets 
out of a bone until I followed his example 
for an hour at a time. I have picked one of 
these bones out of the dust after it had been 
trodden on and kicked around, and gnawed at 
it for half an hour to get the gristle. One 
hoy boiled the eye from a beef's head, but he 
couldn't cook it so that he could eat it — the 
only part that I saw refused there. 

It did not take many weeks tor this diet 
to leave its mark. The languid step ; tlie tired 
feeling; the drawn, sunken features; that far- 
away look in the eye, told that it was only a 

46 



matter of a short time when the poor fellow- 
would follow his comrades to the cemetery. 

I have said that the only water provided 
was in this little sluggish stream. 

About twelve feet below the dead line on the 
west side of the prison, a small foot bridge 
was built over the creek. Between this bridge 
and the dead line was the place where we ob- 
tained water for drinking and cooking pur- 
poses. If we went there very early in the 
morning the water was comparatively clear, 
but after six o'clock there was a nasty, greasy 
scum on it. When 30,000 men were supplying 
themselves with water from that small place, 
it was crowded constantly. One had to crowd 
his way in and out. Often men would be 
jostled against the dead line, and if too much 
crowding were indulged in, the guard from 
the nearest sentry box at the top of the stock- 
ade would fire into the crowd, and one or more 
would be killed. We were told that whenever 
a guard killed a prisoner he was given a fur- 
lough, consequently when a shot was fired, the 
crowd would yell : "There goes another fur- 
lough." 



47 



TUNNELLING OUT. 



Many wells were dug in different parts of 
the grounds by the prisoners, some of them to 
the depth of eighty feet. These wells were 
about two and a half feet in diameter and 
were scooped out with half canteens, one man 
digging and others hauling up the earth in a 
small pail. Instead of a rope attached to the 
pail, several gur. straps, belts, etc., were fas- 
tened together. The process was slow, but in 
time good water was reached, but it was the 
property of a few. 

Owing to the peculiar construction of some 
of these wells, they were always dry. One 
of these was about forty feet from the dead 
line on the east side. The diggers went down 
some ten feet and then began digging at a 
right angle with the hole already dug, and hi 
the direction of the dead line, going on under 
the dead line and under the stockade to a 
point several feet outside of the stockade. Then 
they dug upward gradually until near the sur- 
face. 

Those engaged in this enterprise formed a 
secret organization before beginning opera 
tions. To cover their designs no little tact 

48 



CJl ii. c^ to " 

I I I I I 

o g ci^w 
§ ^ »? pi' <; 



C -JD ex ^ CT) 
I I I I I 

T ^ C "> ■ 

rt a: - » 53 

s; 3 3 a- 



-. :^ 



I I I 

(t < n^ 3 
3 3- > 




was necessary. While sinking the well the 
first ten feet the earth was simply thrown out 
on the surface and left, but when they began 
the horizontal movement, it was necessary to 
remove that earth, as it would not do to have 
more earth in sight than would fill the ten- 
foot well ; so some would dig and others would 
take the earth in blankets or bags and carry 
it down to the swamp and deposit it. This 
horizontal part was dug in the night. During 
the day an old coat was hung over the open- 
ing at the bottom of the well so that a person 
looking into the well would not discover any- 
thing out of the ordinary. 

When they came near the surface on the 
outside, they suspended work and waited for a 
dark night. When the night came and the 
sentries one after another called the hour an- 
nouncing that the officer of the guard was 
making his round, the little company gath- 
ered at the mouth of the well. As soon as 
they were assured that the officer had passed 
the sentries nearest the point where they were 
to make their exit, they climbed down into the 
well, and one after another entered the hori- 
zontal passage and began crawling through it. 
The man at the head carefully dug through the 
thin crust of earth and crawled out, listening 



cautiously. He was quickly followed by the 
others, then they began their march for liberty. 
Going directly to the creek they waded down 
it for some distance to throw the bloodhounds 
off the scent. The next morning, soon after 
sunrise, Wirtz was out with his pack of hounds 
making his daily round of the outside of the 
prison. When the dogs struck the trail they 
set up a howl and started off with Wirtz and 
his men at their heels. They followed to the 
stream and there lost the scent, but Wirtz 
pushed them on until they again struck the 
trail. On and on they went. By pursuing, 
in the course of three or four days they over- 
took the fugitives and marched them back. Re- 
sistance was vain. They were again put in 
the prison, somewhat the better for their few 
hours of freedom and fresh air. A few were 
fortunate enough to reach our lines. Out of 
the 35,000 prisoners I understand that 25 men 
got through. 

A gentleman whose uncle I knew in Minne- 
sota had a well within fifty feet of the creek. 
It was only about ten feet deep, but the water, 
having filtered through the sand from the 
creek, was much improved. He invited me 
to come and get water from his well. Now, 
so 



we had a ten-quart wooden pail in our com- 
pany which someone had borrowed on the 
way to prison and had forgotten to return, 
so one morning I took the pail to the well and 
carried home a treat for the boys. In a day 
or two I introduced one of my comrades, then 
another and another until all had been intro- 
duced. From that time on we were supplied 
with well water. 

I will pause here to relate an incident which 
I feel sure led to my release. 




51 



AN INCIDENT. 



I had one comrade named Tom Van De- 
grift. For some reason Tom had taken a 
liking to me. One morning he came to me 
and said: *'Lyon, I am sick; I wish you would 
bring water for me." (I should have said 
that each of us had a number, and when our 
number was called we went for a pail of 
water.) "All right, Tom, I'll do it," and I 
went for the water. When I came back with 
it, the other fellows, who had been with Tom 
longer than I had before we were prisoners, 
said, 'T thought it was Tom's turn." "Oh," 
I said, "Tom is sick." "Sick! Tom sick! He 
ain't any sicker than you are; he's playing off. 
You don't know Tom." I didn't say much. 
I thought he was sick and that I had a perfect 
right to carry water for him if I wanted to. 

In a few days he was sick again, and I car- 
ried water for him. Then the other fellows 
were furious. They swore at me, called me a 
fool, etc. Farther on I will tell you how Tom 
paid me for it. 



52 



PROVIDENCE SPRING. 



The water question was finally settled in 
August. The morning was an exceedingly- 
hot one. Everything seemed burning up. A 
little after noon black clouds came up from 
the west and soon the sun was darkened. Then 
came the Southern thunder and lightning. It 
was terrific. All at once the clouds seemed 
to break open and the rain poured down in 
torrents. Never before or since have I seen 
so much rainfall in an hour in my life. Every- 
thing was flooded. It is safe to say that the 
water was two inches deep on the level ground. 
The gradual descent of the table land toward 
the hill caused it to flow that way, and when 
it came to the hill it poured over it in a great 
sheet. The little creek soon overflowed its 
banks and spread out over the swamp. In 
about an hour this stream, which was origi- 
nally ten feet wide, had spread out until it was 
three hundred feet wide and six feet deep, and 
where there had seemed to be no current there 
was now a rushing flood of maddened water. 
Suddenly there came the report of a cannon, 
then another. Then the cry went up: "The 

53 



stockade is broken." Sure enough, the flood 
had carried away a hundred feet of the west- 
em stockade, and as the timbers rushed down 
they carried with them about as much of the 
eastern stockade. The cannon was a signal 
for troops, and they rushed down to protect 
the gaps. I beHeve some prisoners attempted 
to escape by jumping into the water and float- 
ing with the current. 

The effect of the flood upon the appearance 
of the prison grounds was marvelous. The 
whole surface was washed, and the swamp, 
which before was almost beyond endurance, 
looked now as if it had been scrubbed. 
We were indeed in a new world. When the 
Almighty cleans house he puts housekeepers 
to shame. Now we come to the greatest 
marvel of all. After the rain had ceased and 
the creek had assumed its normal condition, 
out from under an old pine stump which stood 
near the dead line just below the north gate, 
we saw a stream of water as large as a man's 
arm pour forth and run down the hill between 

the deal line and the stockade. At first we 
thought it would stop running after a time, 
but that was forty years ago last August, and 
it is still running as clear, cold, pure, spring 
water as can be found anywhere. We named 

54 



it Providence Spring. Over it the Woman's 
Relief Corps has built a substantial stone build- 
ing. Some claim it to have been a miraculous 
creation. I cannot agree to that. That it 
was purely providential cannot be questioned. 
Long before the spring was thus opened I 
saw little pools of water near the old stump 
and between the dead line and the stockade, 
and saw a man fish water out of these pockets 
or pools by tying a cup to a string which was 
attached to a pole. This showed us that there 
was water there, and had it been on our side 
of the dead line we should undoubtedly have 
opened the spring long before it was opened 
by the rush of water caused by that providen- 
tial thunder shower. 

The stream flowed from the old stump to 
the creek between the dead line and the stock- 
ade. We could not reach it, so it did us no 
good. In a few days, however, to our great 
surprise, the authorities sent men in, who 
nailed two boards together, forming a leader 
like an old-fashioned eaves trough. Then they 
placed it so as to lead the stream to our side 
of the dead line. There we could go and 
get the pure, sweet water. No one who has 
been deprived of good water for a long time 

55 



can tell how we appreciated this act of kind- 
ness from those from whom we had received 
so little. How we drank of that water. It re- 
vived our sinking spirits and filled us with 
new hope. 




56 



CLOTHING AND BEDS. 



We were without clothing, without shel- 
ter, exposed to the burning sun by day and to 
the cold at night, for in that part of the South 
the nights are very cool, while the heat dur- 
ing the day is intense. My wardrobe con- 
sisted of a woolen shirt, a pair of cotton flan- 
nel drawers, a pair of army pantaloons, a pair 
of boots and the old hat which I was compelled 
to take in exchange for my good one when I 
was captured. I had no blanket, no shelter of 
any kind by night or day, save when I begged 
the privilege of sitting in my friend's mud 
shanty during the hottest part of the day. 

When night came we would lie down to- 
gether upon the ground, spoon fashion. I 
would take off my boots and put them under 
my head for a pillow. The nights were very 
cool, and toward morning it was chilly, even 
in August. The ground, which had been 
tramped over by thousands of feet, and baked 
in that torrid sun, was just about as hard as 
an asphalt pavement. Sometimes as many as 
a dozen men would spoon together, so that 
those in the middle could not turn over, but 



when the bones next the ground ached too 
hard the word would be passed to flop, and 
the whole line flopped together. For weeks I 
had no regular place to sleep, but lay down 
wherever I could find a clear place and a bed- 
fellow. 




58 



REMINISCENCE. 



Is it any wonder that men lost their reason ? 
that they were homesick and childish? Rather 
is it not marvelous that any lived, or if they 
lived that they had mind enough left to think 
at all? Many a poor fellow wandered around 
through the grounds perfectly nude. I have 
stopped these men and tried to talk with them, 
and the only response was a vacant stare. 

Men would gather in groups and talk of 
home. They would tell how their mothers 
cooked their favorite dishes; then when 
thoughts of home came crowding in upon them 
they would jump up and rush away to forget 
them. No pen can write it; no tongue can tell 
it. Even as I try to describe it, the old feeling 
comes over me and it seems to me that it was 
the power of the Almighty Father alone that 
kept us. 

When I was released and went home, my 
mother would try to get me to talk about it, 
but it seemed such a stupendous undertaking 
that I could not do it. Not until quite recently 
have I attemped to tell the story. This is my 

59 



first attempt at writing it, and it is impossible 
for me to do the subject justice. 

When you consider that here were 30,000 
men, men right from the front, hardy, stal- 
wart, able-bodied men — penned up and starved 
until they were as helpless as babes, and suf- 
fering with disease — with no medical attend- 
ance, and only such food as tended to make 
them worse, is it any wonder that they be- 
came desperate, that they thought at times 
that even the great government which they 
were serving had forgotten them. I have seen 
men suffering with scurvy (brought on simply 
from lack of vegetable diet) to such an extent 
that their limbs swelled so that they could 
not walk, and their teeth dropped out. I have 
seen others with the skin worn off the hip 
bones where they had lain on the ground, and 
others with sores on their feet as large as the 
palm of my hand ; these sores would gangrene 
and then be filled with maggots, etc. If I were 
to place one of these men in the public square 
you would shun him as you would a leper. 

Let me try to picture one: On a very hot 
day, in the northern part of the grounds, I 
found a man, his face so black and filthy that 
I couldn't distinguish his natural color, with 
maggots in his eyes and mouth and all over 

60 



his body. He was just whispering, "Water, 
water." I bent over him until I heard what 
he wanted. Then I borrowed a quart pail and 
went to a well close by and drew some water 
(this well was eighty feet deep), brushed the 
maggots out of his mouth, and gave him a 
drink. This is only one case. Another was 
down by the creek. A man who had stood 
over six feet, lay stretched out on the wet 
sand; he had crawled down there in the 
evening to get water. I bent over him 
and he whispered, "Water." I found in his 
hand a peculiar kind of cup. He had found 
an old boot leg and had cut out a piece about 
six inches square and tied up the corners so 
that it would hold about a gill. This I took, 
went to the creek, filled it, put it to his lips, 
filled it again and again until he was satis- 
fied. He probably died before morning. 

Our daily duties were simply the doing of 
those things which would prolong life, for no 
matter how miserable our surroundings may 
be we cling to that thing called life with great 
tenacity. We had within our reach the means 
of self-destruction if we chose to use them. 
All one had to do was to crawl under the board 
which marked the dead line, and the guard, 
who was ever on the alert, would quickly do 

61 



the rest. I very well remember one case — that 
of one of those nude men who had been wan- 
dering around the grounds in the broiling sun 
all day until late in the afternoon. When he 
came up to the dead line on the west side near 
the south gate, observing the shade of the 
stockade, he deliberately cralwed under the 
dead line and started for the shade. When 
about half way, men who were trying to call 
the poor fellow back saw the guard raise his 
gun, and called out to him, "Don't shoot! 
Don't shoot! The man is crazy." He gave no 
heed to their entreaties, but fired. The man 
fell mortally wounded. There he lay for hours 
writhing in agony, but the authorities did noth- 
ing to relieve him, and about sunset he 
breathed his last. No comrade dared go to 
his assistance. 



62 



MORNING DUTIES. 



The first duty of the morning was to go to 
the creek and bathe the face and hands and 
feet, then prepare and eat breakfast. After 
breakfast we would select a spot where we 
could sit on the ground, take off our clothes 
and kill the lice which had been annoying us 
more or less through the night. Pardon the 
word. I might have called them vermin, but 
that is not expressive enough. They were 
just lice, great big ones with gray sides and 
a dark line the entire length of the back. A 
full-grown one was about as large as a flax 
seed. A good kill for a morning was fifty. 
They were very busy during the night, but 
toward morning they would secrete themselves 
in the seams of the garments, their preference 
being woolen goods. The process of killing 
was to take the shirt, turn it inside out, begin 
at one end of the seam and kill one at a time 
by crushing the "varmint" between the thumb 
nails. The killing lasted about an hour every 
morning, and woe be to the man who neglected 
it for a single day. He would pay dearly for 
it before the next morning. This was called 

63 



"lousing." It may seem like exaggeration 
when I say that I have seen the coat of a man 
too lazy to "louse," so covered w^ith these creep- 
ing, crawling things that there wasn't a square 
inch of space on the outside where there was 
not a louse. What the inside might have been 
I had no desire to see. It was considered a 
breach of etiquette to neglect this important 
duty, and he who would not dp it v;as put 
out of his mess. 

I shall always remember with gratitude a 
man from Pennsylvania who said to me the 
first day, "You will soon have a tired, languid 
feeling and want to lie around and sleep. Don't 
do it, exercise; get up and walk and shake off 
your drowsiness." I followed that advice, 
and walked a great deal up and down the hill, 
up to the north end and back to the south end. 

Smoking was indulged in by those who 
could afford it. The tobacco used was nearly 
all plug. It was first chewed, then dried in 
the sun and afterward smoked. I don't know 
as to the quality of the smoke, as I did not 
use the weed, but it seemed a source of com- 
fort to those who did. 

We had a great many breweries in the 
prison — in fact, they were a sort of brewery 
and saloon combined, for each one sold his 

64 



own product. To start one of these establish- 
ments one had first to secure a pail or tub into 
which he would put a quantity of cornmeal, 
fill up the tub with water and add some sassa- 
fras bark. As soon as the meal soured and 
the liquid fermented the proprietor would go 
out on the street, find a stand, seat himself 
behind his tub of beer and cry, "Who wants a 
glass of this nice sassafras beer ; only ten cents 
a glass?" I never knew of anyone becoming 
intoxicated with this beer, perhaps because 
he could not afford more than one glass at a 
time. 




65 



MORALS. 



The feeling I had when I entered the prison 
was that I should be among my friends, and 
that as we were all in the same trouble there 
would be a bond of sympathy — but alas! I 
did not reckon with the frailties of human na- 
ture. Instead of our common trouble making 
us sympathetic, it tended to make us selfish, 
desperately so. Many who at home and in 
camp were cheerful and companionable, after 
being in prison for a time, became morose and 
irritable. Many who were generous at home, 
as prisoners were penurious. Again, men who 
never used an oath, especially in the company 
of others, became profane. Men seemed to vie 
with each other in making their profanity ter- 
rible. 

I remember one incident. A young fellow 
was trying to cook his dinner. He couldn't 
make the fuel burn, so he gave way to a fit of 
swearing. The fire blazed up for a short time 
and then went out. Then he had another fit. 
He would jump up and down, pouring out 
oaths like water. Finally he had a desperate 
attack, and after dancing and swearing for a 

66 



while, he kicked over his dish and jumped on 
the fire. He cursed the fire, the fuel, the com- 
meal, the Southern Confederacy and every- 
thing he could think of. After a while he 
cooled off. 

Not only would men swear at trifles, but 
they would steal. One man shocked me by 
telling me he had stolen a tin cup. I had 
known him for years and at home he was a 
good Methodist. I never laid it up against 
him, and I think, under the circumstances, the 
good Lord forgave him. 

If prison life had such an effect upon men 
of good moral character, what did it do to 
those who were inclined to be bad ? It simply 
made them desperate. There were men in 
there who had enlisted merely to get money 
without working. It was "as natural for them 
to steal as it is for a fish to swim. 

After a while these men got together. The 
toughest of them occupied the southwest cor- 
ner of the prison, a space about 100 feet 
square. This was known as the "raiders' cor- 
ner." These men were called raiders for the 
reason that when the rest of the prison was 
asleep, they went forth under the cover of 
night to pillage. They would creep over the 
bridge, climb the hill, steal along through the 

67 



narrow walks and when they saw anything 
that they could get their hands upon would 
grab it and run. They would often awaken 
someone, who would jump up and cry "raid- 
er," then all who heard would jump up and 
run after him. If they caught him they would 
keep him until morning, take him and shave 
ofif one-half his hair and one-half his beard if 
he had any, then buck and gag him and let 
him sit in the sun and think about it. 

Bucking is done by having the victim sit 
on the ground, then put a stick back of both 
knees and in front of both arms at the elbows, 
then bring the hands together over the knees 
and tie them securely. 

To gag a person they put a stick a little 
larger than a lead pencil in the mouth, tie a 
string to each end of the stick and tie the 
strings together back of the head. 

These punishments sufficed for a while, but 
in time the raiders got either too shrewd to 
be caught or too bold to be scared by such 
slight things. They finally became so bold 
that they pursued their vocation in broad day- 
light, and when a fresh lot of prisoners were 
brought in they were on hand in the crowd to 
receive them. When the unsuspecting displayed 
their money they would crowd around them 



and in a short time money and raiders were 
missing. They would sometimes follow one 
who had money and for some pretense would 
knock him down, and in the scuffle they would 
get the money. 



J^ 

4^^^- 



VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. 



In July matters were getting into such a 
state that no one was safe. We then organ- 
ized a vigilance committee of a hundred or 
more members, who began an investigation 
which brought to light a terrible state of af- 
fairs. Men were being murdered and buried 
in the tents of the raiders. 

The raiders were hunted out and arrested 
until about a hundred of them were in the 
hands of the committee. They were taken 
outside and six of the leaders were taken from 
the group. A judge was appointed; attorneys 
selected (we had many lawyers among us) ; 
a court organized. These six were regularly 
tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hanged. 
The authorities provided material for a gal- 
lows, which our men built and erected just in- 
side the south gate, and upon it the six doomed 
men paid the penalty of their crimes. Never 
shall I forget the sight of those six men, stand- 
ing there trembling when at the given signal 
the drop fell and all dropped. One man broke 
(be rope, but the platform was again adjusted, 

70 



and he was hanged beside his fellows in spite 
of his entreaties. 

As these men were brought in under guard, 
one big fellow broke away and ran to the 
swamp and through it, but was caught as he 
was coming out on the north side and hustled 
back to the scaffold. He was taken past where 
I was sitting. He had a desperate look on his 
face. He dreaded to die, but there was no 
escape. 

The hanging brought about a better state of 
affairs than had existed before. A record of 
the court's proceedings was kept and was for- 
warded to Washington, where it was approved 
bv the Government. 



%^# 



n 



DISEASES AND DEATH. 



The two diseases most prevalent were 
chronic diarrhoea and scurvy; the first caused 
largely by exposure, and by the diet of coarse, 
half-cooked cornmeal; the latter by a lack 
of vegetable food. No potatoes or vegetables 
of any kind were ever issued in Andersonville 
while I was there. 

Tuberculosis carried off a great many. When 
a person was attacked with any of these dis- 
eases he was almost sure to go, or if he man- 
aged to pull through until released, in nearly 
all cases the disease remained with him until 
death came to his rescue. 

It is safe to say that there were 10,000 sick 
men in the prison all through the months of 
July, August and September, so that when in 
September they took out most of those who 
could walk to the station, which was a half 
mile from the gate, it left thousands of men 
absolutely unable to care for themselves. Then 
the authorities brought in lumber and erected 
five sheds, each one about fifty feet long and 
twelve feet wide. These consisted of a frame 
eight feet high, above which was a roof. There 



were two floors in each of these ; the first floor 
eighteen inches from the ground and the sec- 
ond three feet above the first. Into these we 
carried these helpless fellows and laid them 
close together. 

These sheds were divided into wards, each 
ward containing sixty men. I acted for a time 
as ward-master in some of these until I was 
taken sick and was obliged to go away and 
stay in a mud shanty which had been deserted. 
It was the duty of the ward master to direct 
and assist the nurses in drawing rations and 
distributing to the sick and to do all that 
he could to relieve their suffering until death 
came. 

Every morning several dead would be taken 
from each ward, and others quickly filled the 
places made vacant. When a man was about 
to die, his name, company and regiment were 
written upon a small slip of paper — though 
paper was very scarce — to be tied to one of his 
toes when he was carried out. How many of 
these papers remained with the bodies I am 
unable to say, but I am sure that many were 
lost in the rough handling which the bodies 
received as they were thrown in and out of the 
wagon. Just outside the gate a clerk was sta- 
tioned, whose business it was to record the 

73 



names of the unfortunates and their companies. 
It was after passing him that the bodies re- 
ceived the rough treatment. Hundreds of 
them must have been buried under the wrong 
names. How could it have been otherwise. 

The bodies were buried in trenches, without 
coffins and many times without clothing or 
even a blanket to cover them. The trenches 
were seven feet wide, from three to four feet 
deep, and long enough to hold the deaths of 
one day. (The greatest number of deaths in 
one day was 137). At the head of each one 
was a board bearing the name, rank, regiment 
and company of the one supposed to be there. 
These boards have since been replaced by mar- 
ble slabs furnished by our government. 



74 



HOW TOM HELPED ME OUT 
WHEN I WAS RELEASED. 



When I was taken sick, I found that all my 
mess of fifteen had left the old place and had 
either died or gone out. As I lay in the mud 
shanty one evening about sunset, I was greatly 
surprised at seeing Tom coming toward me. 
He came near and spoke to me. "By George, 
Lyon, I am sorry to see you in this fix!" We 
talked a short time, and he said, *T know where 
I can get you a cake if you have any money." 
I gave him a quarter, and he went away. After 
a while he came back, bringing a ginger cake 
three or four inches square. The next day he 
came over again. Presently he said : 
"Lyon, Pm going out tomorrow night." 
"I am glad you are so fortunate, Tom." He 
looked at me in a peculiar way, and then said : 
"I want you to go with me." 
"Oh, I can't walk to the station." 
"Well, I can help you. You be ready to- 
morrow night just after dark, and Pll be here." 
True to his word, just after dark he made 
his appearance. He helped me to my feet, put 
his arm around me and together we went down 

75 



the old hill and crossed the bridge for the last 
time. Tom helped me over to the station. We 
were together in two other prisons for two 
months after leaving Andersonville, and Tom 
stood by me like a brother. When I could not 
cook my food, he cooked it for me. I think I 
owe my release to the kindness of Tom, the 
boy for whom I carried water when he was 
sick, and this is the way he paid me. It pays 
sometimes to be a "fool." 




76 



A BACKWARD GLANCE. 



Let us pause here for one last look at this 
place where we have spent so many terrible 
days, days never to be forgotten, days which 
tried men's souls. Is it possible that, after 
having so many of our comrades carried out^ 
dead, that we are going to be released? This 
was the hope that was held out to us, but, 
alas ! to how many it was only a false hope. 

That picture remains with me to this day. 
There stands the stockade with the sentries 
looking over the top of it. I can hear them 
calling in a clear, ringing voice, "Post No. 29 ; 
nine o'clock and all's well !" I see those starv- 
ing thousands. I see their sunken cheeks, their 
staring, glassy eyes. I hear the death rattle. 
I hear that boy, as he catches for breath, whis- 
per, "I wish I could see my mother. Mother! 
Mother! Will she not come soon?" The 
whisper dies away, and he sinks to rest with 
his last thought about his mother. I see filth 
and rags and vermin; that hard ground, every 
foot of which has been trampled and baked 
until it is as hard as a rock. Some are left. 
Will any of them get out? The one bright 

77 



spot is Providence Spring. I can hear the 
water as it flows trickling down the hillside 
to be lost in the sluggish stream of the swamp. 
Is it possible that we are really going out? 
The huge gate opens, and that motley crowd 
of crippled, starving, ragged men moves slowly 
out. Then we think of that great army buried 
there; how many there were we did not know 
at the time. 

With Tom's help I was enabled to reach the 
station. As we were waiting for the train a 
boy came along selling biscuits. I asked him 
how he would trade his biscuits for buttons. 
He would give a biscuit for a button, so I 
gave him five buttons for five biscuits. These 
served me as lunch for the journey. It's a 
wonder they did not end my mortal existence, 
for they were as solid as flour and water could 
make them. We finally boarded the train, 
which was made up of box cars. This was 
the last day of September. We reached Sa- 
vannah the next evening. As we pulled into 
the city I remember passing a large brick resi- 
dence where I could see a gentleman sitting 
in a well lighted, well furnished room. I am 
afraid I envied him; at least it was easy to 
make comparisons by contrast. 



78 



IN PRISON AT SAVANNAH. 



The authorities had told us all along that 
we were to be exchanged and sent home. Well, 
we were exchanged, and many were sent home, 
but it was to their long home, for we were 
taken from the cars and hurried into another 
stockade in the outer edge of the city. 

We were quite well treated, compared with 
what we had been at Andersonville; it was a 
very comfortable place, clean and plenty of 
good water, and much better food than we 
had been having. It was rumored that the 
loyal citizens (of whom I was told there were 
many) used their influence in our behalf. It 
may have been a stroke of policy, as Sherman 
was at Atlanta on his march to the sea. 

We were kept in Savannah but thirteen 
days, when we were again hustled into the 
cars and taken we knew not whither until we 
arrived at Millen, another prison, seventy 
miles northwest from Savannah. 



79 



MILLEN PRISON. 



A large field was here fenced in with a stock- 
ade, but it was new and clean, and through it 
flowed a beautiful stream of pure water. Much 
timber had been left on the ground, so that we 
had plenty of wood for cooking out* food. We 
also received a few sweet potatoes each day. 
These I ate without cooking. The scurvy had 
so affected my jaws that I could with difficulty 
open my mouth just enough to put the tip of 
my index finger between my front teeth. 

After a few days, Tom with two other com- 
rades made a dug-out and covered it with an 
old blanket which I had bought with a part 
of the money received for my boots. This 
dug-out was a square hole long enough for a 
man to stretch himself in and wide enough for 
four of us to lie side by side, and it was eigh- 
teen inches deep. We covered the bottom with 
pine needles. 

The weather was getting cool. The nights, 
which in that country are cool even in August, 
were now cold. I remember getting up one 
morning in October and seeing the ground 
covered with a heavy white frost. I bought a 

80 



coat just before leaving Andersonville, but 
some one stole it from me at Savannah. I 
felt the need of it at this time more than dur- 
ing the warm weather. 

We had become very much emaciated; my 
weight, which varies from 150 to 180, was 
then just about 100. I became so weak that I 
had to try two or three times to get on my 
feet, and then stand for some time to get my 
balance before venturing to walk. I just shut 
my teeth and vowed that I would not die there, 
but many a less fortunate comrade chilled to 
death in that land of the sunny South. I think 
the most trying experience I ever had with 
the weather was during a rainy day in Novem- 
ber. My clothes were wet through. There 
was no fire where I could warm myself; no 
way to escape the wind, and I couldn't exercise 
enough to keep warm. Since that day I have 
had a great deal of sympathy for the poor 
dumb animals who are without shelter in 
stormy weather. 

My clothing was very much worn. The 
woolen shirt which had served me so long was 
nearly gone, the sleeves having worn off to the 
elbows. My boots were gone, leaving my feet 
exposed to the cold. My old hat was gone; I 
had gotten a cap from a dead comrade, which 

81 



was too small. One comforting thought re- 
mained. My clothing harmonized with my 
surroundings. 






82 




As the Author looked on leaving Andersonville. 



LEAVING MILLEN PRISON. 



One Sunday morning in November a Con- 
federate officer came into the prison and said 
that he would take the names of the sick and 
wounded preparatory to an exchange. Sev- 
eral of my comrades came to me and urged 
me to go and have my name taken, but I told 
them I didn't believe it would amount to any- 
thing. They had lied to us so many times that 
we couldn't believe them. However, after a 
while I consented and went out where the 
officer was. I waited near by, and when he 
came along I was standing leaning on a 
stick which I used as a cane. He looked 
at me and said, "Young man, what is the 
matter with you?" "Scurvy, I suppose." 
Turning to his clerk, he said, "Put his name 
down." I went back to my comrades, 
thinking that it was only a farce to make us 
feel good; but in about a week we were all 
called over to the gate, formed in line and 
marched out. They even had old wagons for 
some of us. I rode. We got over to the rail- 
road about noon and waited for the train until 

84 



five o'clock. When it came in they said that 
there had been a storm on the ocean and our 
fleet had been wrecked, so they gave us some- 
thing to eat and we stayed there until the morn- 
ing, when we were all taken back to the prison. 
This had a bad effect upon many of the pris- 
oners, and they gave up and died. 

In a day or two we were called out again. 
The train came in as before, this time bringing 
a lot of their men who had been prisoners in 
the north. They looked well and hearty, and 
ready to go to the front. They filled up the 
cars from our ranks, but about twenty of us 
were unable to get in. The officers told us if 
we would promise to stay near the station they 
would not take us back to prison, and would 
put us on the cars the next day. We promised. 
There were some beautiful trees there, and we 
walked around and enjoyed the fresh air until 
dark, then lay down under the trees and slept 
until morning. 

Just before dark a young fellow came 
around, and I asked him if he could get me 
some sweet potatoes. He said he would try. 
I had some fancy link buttons in my shirt 
which I offered him if he would bring me the 
potatoes. He brought me a quart of little 
ones, and I gave him the buttons. The next 

85 



day the train came in, bringing more of their 
men, and we succeeded in getting aboard. 

Before we leave Millen I wish to say that 
as we were going from the prison to the train 
I saw piles of boxes filled with blankets and 
clothing. Upon inquiry I found that these 
had been sent there by our Sanitary Commis- 
sion to make us comfortable, but they were not 
delivered to us, notwithstanding men were 
chilled to death while these comforts were just 
outside the prison stockade. 

Just before dark the train moved out and 
the rain began to fall at the same time, and it 
followed us all night. We were crowded into 
cattle cars, open all round, with no roof, so 
that as we pulled into Savannah the next 
morning, which was Sunday, we were wet 
through and so chilled that we could hardly 
move. We were taken from the cars and 
marched through the city to the river. All 
along this route we saw baskets of rolls and 
sandwiches which the loyal people had sent to 
us, but the guards kept them from us. When 
we reached the river, there at the dock lay an 
old boat which had been used before the war 
for carrying cotton. Upon the dock stood a 
table upon which lay a large sheet of paper. 
We were each required to write our name upon 

86 



this paper. What the paper signified I did not 
know, and cared less. After signing the paper 
we passed on to the boat. When all were on 
board the old hulk swung out into the stream, 
the engine began its work, and we moved 
slowly down the stream. At intervals we 
passed the huge iron monsters that guarded 
the mouth of the river and the bay. 

It was a dark, cloudy, chilly morning, and 
the mist was blown through the open sides of 
the boat. We huddled together and crowded 
around close to the boilers to keep warm. 

The sergeant-major of our regiment was 
one of our number. He had been outside at 
Andersonville on parole of honor. The parole 
of honor was granted those prisoners who 
went out to work in the hospitals and ceme- 
tery. They took an oath that they would not 
go beyond a certain limit, and they were pro- 
vided with extra rations and a comfortable 
place to sleep. 

I was asked by the surgeon to go out and 
number the graves, but I was taking care of a 
sick comrade, who pleaded with me so pite- 
ously to remain with him that I refused to go. 

While the sergeant-major was out on parole 
he managed to get some extra clothing from 
the sanitary commission boxes, and when he 

87 



saw me on the boat, and that I was chilled 
through, he gave me a new shirt, which I put 
on under my old one. 






FIRST SIGHT OF THE OLD FLAG. 

About noon there was quite a stir forward; 
every one was looking out to sea; some one 
had made a discovery. Away in the distance 
was a vessel, and above the vessel floated a 
flag. At first we could not make it out. Soon 
some one said, "It's the old Hag!" Yes, sure 
enough, there, like the morning star after a 
stormy night, stood the old flag. As we drew 
nearer, and could see "its broad stripes and 
bright stars," it was like a glorious sunburst 
after a storm. Never before did that emblem 
mean so much to us. Never did it have a more 
soulful greeting. Owing to our weakened 
condition our demonstrations were not very 
loud, but if we could have cheered as we felt 
the shout would have been heard around the 
world. Some shouted, some laughed, some 
even tried to dance. One poor fellow over six 
feet tall sat down and cried like a child. Some 
one said to him, "Sam, what are you crying 
for?" "Oh," he said, "they'll cheat us out 
of it yet." For my part, I felt a good deal as 
Som did. It was too good to be true. All I 
could do was to stand and look at the stars 



and stripes. No flag ever looked as that 
did. It meant everything to me. I knew if 
I could just get under its folds I should 
be safe. I could write to my mother, 
and perhaps I might go to see her. The 
thoughts that filled our minds and hearts dur- 
ing those three or four hours we lay there in 
sight of freedom would fill a large volume. 

When we reached a point about a quarter 
of a mile from the flagship, we dropped anchor. 
A small boat carrying a white flag was low- 
ered; three or four officers got in and were 
rowed over, and at 4 o'clock in the afternoon 
the anchor was lifted and we pulled up along- 
side of that great vessel. As soon as we began 
to move toward the flag our hopes began to 
rise, and when the plank was thrown across 
to us, and a rope stretched to which we might 
cling, our hearts were full to overflowing. 
When it came my turn to walk that plank I 
stepped very cautiously, for the plank was wet 
and slippery, and I was barefoot. I clung to 
the rope with both hands, slipping one foot 
along and then bringing the other up to it, 
until both feet touched the dry plank of the 
deck of that vessel which carried the flag. 
There I stopped for an instant, and my whole 
soul went out in thankfulness to the great, 

90 



kind Father, who had kept me to that hour. 
It thrilled my whole being. I said to myself, 
"Thank God, we are safe!" My whole soul 
went out in a song of praise. My thoughts 
and feelings were beyond the power of the 
human tongue to express. If I am so un- 
speakably happy as to reach heaven when this 
life of toil and care and disappointment is past, 
I am sure I shall feel no greater joy than I did 
at that moment. Once on God's boat (for so 
we felt it to be), our next thought was for 
something to eat. We were formed in lines 
along the lower deck, and, though we had to 
sit flat on the hard deck, we were happy, for 
we were warm, and we knew we should get 
something to eat. After waiting for some time 
(it seemed hours), we were served with 
fresh hardtack and boiled pork, and great tin 
cups of delicious chocolate. Never was a feast 
more heartily enjoyed. The feeling would 
come over me, "I must be careful and not eat 
too much," and the next instant, "I'll eat what 
I want of it, if it kills me." I ate eleven hard- 
tack and half a pound of pork, and drank all 
the chocolate I wanted. After supper we 
stretched ourselves on the deck and slept, 
lying on our sides until the aching of 
our bones would arouse us. When Ave 



91 



awoke we thought we were again in prison, 
but when we heard the engine and the splash 
of the great wheels we realized that we were 
free. 

Then I said, "Thank God, we're safe!" and 
turned on the other side and went to sleep. 

The next day we were taken below, where 
there were mattresses filled with straw and 
covered with blankets. There we could lie 
and rest. What a wonderful change — plenty 
to eat and good beds. Before going below 
we were stripped of our rags — which were 
thrown overboard — put into large bath-tubs 
with plenty of soap and scrubbed. I had my 
hair clipped and was shaved. Then we were 
given new clothes. What a transformation — 
from ragged, filthy, despairing creatures to 
well clothed men. 



92 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 



The exhilarating breeze that swept over the 
broad old ocean was like a tonic. This, to- 
gether with the all-absorbing thought that we 
were really homeward bound, revived us, and 
we felt that we might once more be men. 

When I looked at the sailors and the officers 
of the vessel, it seemed to me that I had never 
before seen such noble specimens of manhood. 
I felt like a child beside those great, strong 
fellows. 

In just a week from the day we left Savan- 
nah we steamed into the harbor at Annapolis, 
Maryland. It was a bright, beautiful Sunday 
morning. We were taken from the ship to 
the hospital. There my clothes were taken 
off again and I was put to bed. Everything 
was very clean, and to be put into a real bed 
with clean, white sheets was beyond my high- 
est hopes. How restful! It seemed like a 
dream. I had been in bed but a short time 
when a lady came in carrying a tray upon 
which was a bowl of chicken broth and other 
delicacies. It almost took away what little 
sense I had, and I hardly knew whether to 

93 



embrace that angel or take the broth, but I did 
the latter. The vision of the lady remains till 
this day — it had been so long since I had seen 
one. Truly I had reached God's country. 

We stayed in Annapolis but a short time, 
when we were put on board a boat and taken 
to Baltimore and put in Jarvis Hospital. From 
here I wrote my mother in Minnesota and my 
brother in Columbus, Ohio. 

After remaining in Jarvis Hospital about 
three weeks, I secured a furlough and came 
on to Columbus to see my brother. I arrived 
at his house in the morning while he was out, 
but soon made myself known to his wife, 
whom I had never before seen. It was eight 
in the morning. She said, "We have had 
breakfast, but I'll soon have some ready for 
you," Such a breakfast — porterhouse steak 
cooked to the queen's taste, buckwheat cakes 
and honey, coffee with cream and sugar, etc. 
Well, I took everything in sight. As she put 
the last cake on the griddle, she said to me, 
"Will you have some more?" I looked up in 
a peculiar way, she says, and replied very slow- 
ly, "I guess this will do." This was the first 
meal I had eaten at a family table in about ten 
months. Then followed days of feasting. I 
could not stand the journey to Minnesota to 

94 



see my mother, but I visited her sister in 
northern Ohio, and spent a few days in her 
home. She gave me the freedom of the house, 
and I used the privilege to its utmost. I went 
to the pantry for the good things, to the cellar 
for apples and cider, and to the garret for 
hickory nuts, all of which I despatched with 
alacrity. 

Eating occupied my waking hours and 
crowded my sleep with dreams. I would sit 
at the table and eat until my stomach could 
take no more; but when I stopped eating I 
was just as hungry as when I began. This 
ravenous appetite remained with me for 
months. 

• I afterward became surgeon's clerk in Sem- 
inary Hospital at Columbus, Ohio, and I re- 
member that when released prisoners were 
brought to the hospital many of their cases 
were diagnosed as typhus hunger. 



9S 



STATISTICS. 



Andersonville prison was opened in Feb- 
ruary, 1864, and was in active operation until 
December, 1864. In these ten months more 
than 35,000 Union soldiers were confined 
there. The actual number present at one time 
was 33,114, on Aug. 8, 1864. 

The total number of deaths in Andersonville 
according to the records of the cemetery was 
13,710. 

The number of deaths in five months was 
as follows : 

June 1,202 

July 1,742 

August 3,076 

September 2,790 

October 1,595 

Total 10,405 

An average of nearly sixty-eight daily for 153 
days. The largest number of deaths reported 
in one day was 137. 

In the month of October one out of every 
two died. By comparing this last statement 
with the number of deaths for October, it will 

96 



be seen that there were only 3,190 prisoners 
in the stockade in that month, the others hav- 
ing died or been removed to other prisons or 
exchanged. 

Many of those who were moved died before 
reaching home, and thousands more died 
shortly after arriving home. 

A conservative estimate is that two-thirds 
of the 35,000 men confined in Andersonville 
prison died within two years from the day the 
prison was opened, as a result of exposure and 
disease consequent upon a lack of food and the 
very poor quality of the food furnished, and 
lack of fuel with which to cook what little food 
was received. 

I do not wish to be understood as saying or 
intimating that one-third of this great army of 
men recovered from the effects of this hard 
life; far from it. In my opinion, no man ever 
stayed three months in one of those Southern 
prisons, especially the one at Andersonville, 
who afterwards ever became so good a man 
physically as when he went in. 

It is true that homesickness was the cause 
of many deaths in Andersonville. Many peo- 
ple seem to treat this lightly, as if it were 
lack of courage or loyalty. If it were the lat- 
ter, they could have saved themselves, for the 
Confederate officers came into the prison and 

97 



offered us plenty to eat, good clothes and many 
other good things if we would go out and en- 
list in the Southern army. A few, I must con- 
fess, accepted, but they were not of the home- 
sick kind. The great majority said, "No. We 
will stay here and rot. We will stay until the 
maggots eat the flesh from our bones before 
we will be disloyal to the old flag." 

To the representations of the Southern offi- 
cers that our government had forsaken us, 
that our officers were making no efforts to re- 
lease us, we turned a deaf ear. We knew that 
time would reveal the cause for the seeming 
slowness on the part of our government to aid 
us. And so thousands of men who had been 
reared in good homes, who had been educated 
in our best colleges and universities, stayed 
and dragged out a miserable existence until 
the last ray of hope left them and they lay 
down upon the hard ground and their spirits 
passed into the presence of the unerring Judge 
of all the earth. 

I often think what a wonderfully delightful 
change it must have been to go out of that 
place of misery into the beautiful world where 
they never say "I am sick," and where "they 
shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, 
and God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes." 

98 



HOMESICKNESS. 



Yes, these men were homesick. Is it any 
wonder ? 

Suppose you try living as they did. If you 
can organize a party of twenty young men, 
find some place where there is no one but your- 
selves, dress in the worst old clothes you can 
find, each take a tin cup and a tin plate, allow 
a pint of coarse cornmeal and a piece of bacon 
two inches long and an inch square to each 
one for a day's ration, and poor wood enough 
to half cook this food ; you must have no shel- 
ter from sun or rain, no blankets for covering 
at night, no chairs, no lights at night but the 
moon and stars, no good, clear water to drink, 
no coffee, tea or substitutes for these. You 
must not in any way communicate with others. 
There must not be a blade of grass or a flower. 
Try this for one month. Then, if you could 
add to these things the thought that there is 
no chance for release at the end of the month, 
don't you think you would be homesick ? Why, 
everyone would be a raving maniac. 

It was that these men had sworn to defend 
their country and to be loyal and true which 

99 



kept them from going mad. Had they been 
doing it simply to make money they could not 
have endured it, but it was that loyal fire burn- 
ing in their souls which kept up their spirits. 

At one time a Yankee deserter, who was an 
overseer in a shoe shop which furnished shoes 
for the Southern army, came into Anderson- 
ville and undertook to persuade some of the 
prisoners to go and work in his shop. As soon 
as it was generally known what he was doing 
he was treated to a prison hair cut and shave. 
Several men took him and shaved off one-half 
his hair and beard and kicked him outside. 

l^Iany a time I have stood on the brow of 
the hill overlooking the swamp, and looked 
down into that valley of death, and as I saw 
the dead and dying along the banks of that 
little stream, and saw the sick and the lame 
crawling up the hill, and heard the cries of the 
dying and the curses of the great crowd of 
starving, restless men, I said no man who has 
any humanity left in him could stand and see 
this state of things and not lift his hand to 
stay the ravages of death and misery. One 
day some men came in who I was told were 
doctors, and as they crossed the swamp they 
put their hands over their mouths and noses 
to keep out the stench. I thought what if they 

100 



had to live in it! I went up to one of them 
and asked him for medicine for a sick com- 
rade. His answer was, "The medicine is all 
locked up and we can't get it." My thoughts 
may not always have been such as a Christian 
should entertain, but I thought if there is no 
hell there should be one for the men who 
might relieve this sufifering and yet refuse. 

To me there is no grander sight than an 
army of well-fed, well-uniformed, well-drilled 
men, and no more pitiable one than these same 
men starved into mere walking skeletons, with 
the ever accompanying hopeless, longing, 
yearning look, which tells more than words 
how they are thinking of the loved ones so 
far away, whom they may never see. But I 
can't tell it. There are no words which ex- 
press it. It will never be known until the 
books are opened in that other world. 



101 



THE CEMETERY. 



The cemetery was located about half a mile 
northeast of the stockade. Men were kept 
busy digging trenches in which to bury the 
dead. These trenches were seven feet wide, 
from three to four feet deep and long enough 
to receive those who died in a day. 

At first the bodies were covered with boards, 
but when men were dying at the rate of a hun- 
dred or more every day the boards were dis- 
pensed with and the bodies were laid in close 
together and covered with earth. At the head 
of each body a board was driven into the 
ground upon which was placed the name of 
the person, together with his company and 
regiment. 

After the war closed the government re- 
placed these boards with marble slabs. Then 
it purchased the grounds, covering about 
twenty-five acres. 

*"These grounds are now surrounded by a 
substantial ivy-covered brick wall ; the grounds 

*I here quote from a booklet, entitled, "Anderson- 
ville and How to Reach It," published by the Geor- 
gia Central Railroad. 

102 



are shaded with beautiful oaks and ornamental 
trees, transforming it into an ideal city of the 
dead. 

"On every Memorial Day impressive cere- 
monies are conducted here under the auspices 
of the Posts of the Department of Georgia, G. 
A. R., attended by a large concourse of peo- 
ple." 

It is very fitting that those for whom these 
brave fellows gave up their lives under such 
terrible circumstances should make their last 
resting place beautiful. 

I have often thought that I should like to 
be there when those graves open and the dead 
come forth. I should like to look into their 
faces and grasp their hands. 

Sleep on, brave comrades, sleep. 
Where Southern pines their vigils keep 

Above your graves. 
This sacred soil which holds your clay 
Shall tremble in the judgment day 

With peans loud; 
That mighty voice which wakes the dead 
Will call you from your lowly bed, 

And say, "Well done!" 



103 



SOME FIGURES. 



Let us look at some figures taken from the 

official records. 

Number of Union men confined in Con- 
federate prisons 94,073 

Number of deaths in Confederate pris- 
ons during the war 36,401 

57,672 
Number of prisoners who died shortly 
after being exchanged 23,599 

Number of prisoners who finally reached 

home and lived 34,073 

Making a total of those who either died in 
these prisons or shortly after their release of 
60,000. 

Of the 23,599 mentioned, 11,599 died be- 
fore reaching home after having been ex- 
changed, and 12,000 soon after reaching home. 
We see here that the number of men whose 
deaths were traceable directly to the barbarous 
treatment which they received in Confederate 
prisons reaches the appalling figures of 60,000, 
an army two and one-third tim.es as large as 

104 



General Lee surrendered to General Grant at 
the close of the war. 

Let us compare the above figures with those 
covering the number of deaths in Northern 
prisons. 

Number confined in Federal or North- 
ern prisons 227,570 

Number of deaths in Federal or North- 
ern prisons 30,152 

Comparing these two sets of figures, we see 
that the mortality was nearly seven times as 
great in the Confederate as in the Federal 
prisons. 

The universal testimony of men who saw 
the Confederate prisoner after his release from 
the Northern prison is that he was in as good 
condition to take his place in the army as be- 
fore his capture, and in many instances better. 
Very few of our men who had spent any time 
in Confederate prisons ever went back to their 
regiments. 



1C5 



THE CONTRAST. 



When men go into battle it is with high 
hopes of victory. Everything which can be 
done to inspire and encourage loyalty and 
bravery is used to the best advantage. The 
flag is unfurled, the bands play their most 
stirring music, the commanding officers speak 
encouraging words. 

Lord Nelson, in a short speech to his men 
just before the battle of Trafalgar, said, "Eng- 
land expects every man to do his duty." And 
so the patriot feels, "My country is looking 
at me and expects me to do my best." No one 
but cowards and traitors will falter at such a 
time as this. Men often halt and tremble when 
going into battle, until the first volley has been 
fired, then they lose sight of everything but 
the flag and the enemy, and rush forward into 
the thickest of the fight. 

The roar of the cannon, the rattle of the 
musketry and the clashing of the sabres all fire 
these men with the fury of demons. 

To be overcome at such a time and com- 
pelled to surrender is humiliating. It is exas- 
perating. The fury of the battle is over for 

106 



them, and the depressing sense of defeat takes 
possession of them. Sometimes, as they are 
marched away under the enemy's flag to be 
penned up like cattle, they hear the shouts of 
victory from those who a short time before 
were their comrades, but it is not for them. 

The enemy is exultant. He laughs at these 
brave fellows, who cannot answer. "It is not 
theirs to make reply." 

Many of them are like caged lions. They 
walk up and down their narrow quarters. They 
grow restive and spend their energy in berat- 
ing their keepers, and in time become maniacs. 

The prisoner has nothing to inspire or en- 
courage him. The music is gone. There are 
no words from his officers to help him, nothing 
but the long, monotonous days and dreary, 
sleepless nights. His thoughts are of the loved 
ones far away. He dreams of home and its 
comforts only to awake to scenes of misery 
and hunger. He goes over and over again the 
scenes of his boyhood days. He thinks of his 
father and his mother, of his wife and his 
children, or of that one to whom he pledged 
his troth. These thoughts crowd thick and 
fast upon one another, until his brain is on 
fire; he grows faint and rushes away to other 

107 



scenes to forget. If he could only stop think- 
ing! 

I well remember one comrade who had lived 
in our family at home. He was married and 
had one child, a beautiful girl of five years. 
To see the anguish written on that man's face 
was most pathetic. It would not do for me 
to sympathize with him. I must divert his 
mind, if possible; but my efforts were vain. 
His poor heart was breaking, and one morn- 
ing we closed his weary eyes. 

Another comrade by the name of Knapp, 
who had been a merchant, said to me one day 
that he thought he could sell some stuff if he 
only had some money to start on. I had a 
little money, and I bought some beans and 
had them cooked, and Knapp set up his stand. 
It was not long before he had a customer. A 
young fellow came up, ordered a plate of beans, 
ate them, and then said he had no money to 
pay for them. Knapp was very much cha- 
grined at being taken in, but we had a good 
laugh over it, which perhaps did us as much 
good as the money would have done. 

I felt very sorry for Knapp. He had plenty 
of money at home. It was not necessary for 
him to enlist. He had always lived well, had 
always made money, and was accustomed to 

108 



having what money would buy. In September 
he went out with a company who the authori- 
ties said were to be taken to Savannah to be 
exchanged, but instead they were taken to 
Florence, a prison near Charleston, S. C, 
where he died. 

Many of our fiercest battles were fought in 
a very short time, no one body of men being 
under fire more than an hour at one time. Not 
so with the battle at Andersonville. When 
once the battle opened it was on for life with 
many. No dropping out for rest. No flank- 
ing movements to get into better position. 
Every morning the sun came up blazing like 
a ball of fife. There was no escaping the sharp 
thrusts of his dagger-like rays, which pene- 
trated every nook and corner of our prison 
pen. The stench from the swamp was ever 
present. The groans of the sick and wounded 
and the death rattle of the dying were to be 
heard on every hand. 



109 



SOUTHERN TESTIMONY. 



I will here quote from Smith's Knapsack^ 
published in Toledo, O., in 1884: "Dr. Jo- 
seph Jones, Professor of Medical Chemistry 
in the Medical College of Georgia, at Augusta, 
who made a thorough inspection of Anderson- 
ville under instructions from the Surgeon-Gen- 
eral of the so-called Confederate States, re- 
ported that the prisoners were so affected with 
scurvy, caused by want of vegetables, or of 
nutritious food, that their limbs were ready to 
drop from their bodies. I have often seen 
maggots scooped out by the handful from the 
sores of those thus afflicted. Upon first attack 
of scurvy, an enervating weakness creeps over 
the body, which is followed by a disinclination 
to exercise ; the legs become swollen and weak, 
and often the cords contract, drawing the legs 
out of shape; the color of the skin becomes 
black and blue, and retains pressure from the 
fingers as putty will. This is frequently fol- 
lowed by dropsical symptoms, swelling of the 
feet and legs. If the patient was subject to 
trouble with the throat, the scurvy would at- 
tack that part; if afflicted with or predisposed 

110 



to any disease, there it would seize and de- 
velop, or aggravate it in the system. In cases 
of this character, persons ignorant of their 
condition would often try to do something for 
a disease which in reality should have been 
treated as scurvy, and could have been pre- 
vented or cured by proper food. A common 
form of scurvy was in the mouth ; this was the 
most horrible in its final results of any that 
afflicted the prisoners. The teeth would be- 
come loosened, the gums rot away, and swal- 
lowing the saliva thus tainted with the poison 
of scurvy would produce scurvy in the bowels, 
which often took the form of chronic diarrhoea. 
Sometimes bloating of the bowels would take 
place, followed by terrible suffering and death. 
Often scurvy sores would gangrene, and mag- 
gots would crawl from the flesh, and pass 
from the bowels, and, under the tortures of a 
slow death, the body would become, in part, 
putrid before death. Persons wasted to mere 
skeletons by starvation and disease, unable to 
help themselves, died by inches, the most ter- 
rible of deaths. 

"There was a portion of the camp, forming 
a kind of swamp, on the north side of the 
branch, as it was termed, which ran through 
the center of the camp. This swamp was 

lU 



used as a sink by the prisoners, and was putrid 
with the corruption of human offal. The 
stench polluted and pervaded the whole at- 
mosphere of the prison. When the prisoner 
was fortunate enough to get a breath of air 
outside the prison, it seemed like a new devel- 
opment of creation, so different was it from 
the poisonous vapors inhaled from this cess- 
pool with which the prison air was reeking. 
During the day the sun drank up the most 
noxious of these vapors, but in the night the 
terrible miasma and stench pervaded the at- 
mosphere almost to suffocation. In the month 
of July it became apparent that unless some- 
thing was done to abate the nuisance the 
whole camp would be swept away by some ter- 
rible disease engendered by it. Impelled by 
apprehension for the safety of themselves and 
the troops stationed around the camp on guard, 
the authorities of the prison furnished the nec- 
essary implements to the prisoners, who filled 
about half an acre of the worst of the sink 
with earth excavated from the hillside. The 
space thus filled in was occupied, almost to 
the verge of the sink, by the prisoners, gath- 
ered here for the conveniences of the place, 
and for obtaining water. Men reduced by 
starvation and disease would drag themselves 

112 



to this locality to lie down and die uncared 
for, almost unnoticed. I have seen forty and 
fifty men in a dying condition, who, with their 
little remaining strength, had dragged them- 
selves to this place for its conveniences, and, 
unable to get back again, were exposed in the 
sun, often without food, until death relieved 
them of the burden of life. 

"Frequently, on passing them, some were 
reduced to idiocy, and many, unable to articu- 
late, would stretch forth their wasted hands in 
piteous supplication for food or water, or 
point to their lips, their glazed eyes presenting 
that staring fixedness which immediately pre- 
cedes death. On some the flesh would be drop- 
ping from their bones with scurvy; in others 
little of humanity remained in the wasted 
forms but skin drawn over bones. Nothing 
ever before seen in a civilized country could 
give one an adequate idea of the physical con- 
dition to which disease, starvation and expos- 
ure reduced these men. It was only strange 
that men should retain life so long as to be re- 
duced to the skeleton condition of the great 
mass who died in prison." 

This from a man appointed by the Southern 
Confederacy to inspect the prison. Can any 
one doubt the truth of his statement? He 

113 



has told it so well that I can add nothing ex- 
cept to verify his statement in every particu- 
lar. He has drawn it mildly. I have seen all 
these things which he described. They were 
common occurrences, even the worst cases de- 
scribed. 






114 



THE HOSPITAL. 



The hospital — a hospital only in name — was 
located just outside the stockade near the south- 
east corner. There were a few shelters, con- 
sisting of old blankets and pieces of tent cloth 
stretched upon posts. Others were made by 
setting up posts, connecting them at the top 
with poles and covering the whole with the 
branches of trees. These served as a partial 
protection from the sun, but did not keep out 
the rain. No beds or cots were furnished, and 
the inmates, no matter how sick they were, 
were obliged to lie on the ground with a block 
of wood or nothing for a pillow, and no blan- 
ket for a covering. When a comrade was 
taken to the hospital we said farewell, as we 
never expected to see him again, for no one 
was admitted until it was a pretty sure case 
of death. I do not remember a single case 
where one came back to the prison. 

I quote from Hiram Buckingham, of the 
Sixteenth Connecticut, who was hospital stew- 
ard : "When I first went into the prison," says 
Mr. Buckingham, "on the first of May, 1864, 
the hospital was inside the stockade, half of it 

115 



on one side of the stream that ran in our midst 
and half on the other side. The condition of 
things was horrible in the extreme. A single 
glimpse of things was enough to make a man 
sick. There were comparatively few patients 
then, scarcely over two hundred, a circum- 
stance accounted for in two ways. In the first 
place, a man never went in and came out alive. 
The utter want of cleanliness, the pestilential 
air, the improper and miserable food and scanty 
medicines all combined to render the swift 
coming of death sure. Pieces of canvas only 
sheltered these poor sick and dying men from 
the rain and sun of a climate that would have 
been none too favorable for them under the 
best of circumstances. Their emaciated, pain- 
racked frames had no place to rest but upon 
the cold, hard ground, and in numberless in- 
stances their heads were pillowed upon noth- 
ing softer than a stick of wood. 

"Added to these things, the sink was dug 
within a single rod of these men, which, of 
course, did not add to the purity of the air 
about them. It was enough of itself to make 
a man sick," 

The time when we could see the doctors was 
from 10 to 12 o'clock a. m. Early in the morn- 
ing men would crawl and some would be car- 
ried over to the south gate, where the doctors 

116 



were supposed to come. They would be laid 
on the ground beside the path leading up from 
the bridge across the stream to the south gate ; 
there they would lie in the hot sun for hours 
waiting for a chance, but many, like the one 
at the pool of Siloam, were pushed aside when 
the waters were troubled, and were obliged 
finally to crawl back to their place on the hill. 

It was a most pitiful sight to see those poor 
fellows stretched upon the ground for hours 
without food or drink. 

Let one of the Confederate surgeons who 
was on duty at the hospital speak. Surely he 
will not overdraw the picture. 

Surgeon Reeves reported as follows : "I find 
the tents in bad condition, a great many leak- 
ing, and a great many of the patients lying 
on the ground and getting very wet when it 
rains ; would most respectfully recommend that 
straw of some kind be secured for bedding, 
also some arrangement to raise them from the 
ground. Without a change in this respect, it 
will be impossible for me to practice with suc- 
cess." 

No response was made to this, and still later 
another. Surgeon Pelot, uttered his protest 
with regard to diet: "The cornbread," he 
says, "received from the bakery, being made 
up without sifting, is wholly unfit for the sick, 

117 



and often, upon examination, the inner por- 
tion is found to be perfectly raw. The beef 
received by the patients does not amount to 
over two ounces per day; and for the past 
three or four days no flour has been issued to 
the sick. The bread cannot be eaten by many, 
for to do so would be to increase the disease 
of the bowels, from which a large majority 
are suffering, and it is therefore thrown away," 

About the middle of August, Dr. Thornburg 
reported his patients in a "deplorable condi- 
tion," some of them being without clothing 
of any kind. "In the first, second and third 
wards," he wrote, "we have no bunks, the pa- 
tients being compelled to lie on the ground, 
many of them vv'ithout blankets or any cover- 
ing whatsoever. If there are any beds in 
'Dixie,' it is hoped that they will be procured. 
We need straw badly, especially for the fifth 
ward. We have men in this ward who are a 
living mass of putrefaction, and cannot pos- 
sibly be cured of their wounds unless we can 
make them more comfortable." 

These words from their own surgeons, who 
were on the ground and who were comfort- 
ably clothed and well fed, and could form their 
opinions better than we who were in such sad 
plight, must convince the most skeptical that 
we were in a most pitiable condition. 

118 



AFTER-THOUGHTS. 



When I was released, and finally reached 
God's country, I had many strange impressions. 
One was that every one walked so fast and 
looked so very strong and robust. If I at- 
tempted to walk fast I would fall headlong. 
I found myself constantly contrasting these 
strong men with those with whom I had so 
recently been associated, and even now, when 
I see a large gathering of people, I find myself 
again standing on the hill in Andersonville, 
surrounded by that immense crowd of ragged, 
naked, starving, dying men. The old scenes 
come back to me, and when I look over the 
figures showing how many were buried there, 
and when I see so many who are unable 
to perform the common duties of life, I 
feel like quoting a line from an old Methodist 
hymn, *T am a miracle of grace." Some say 
that we should forget it. There are some 
scenes which we can easily forget, but when a 
thing is burned into the brain and into every 
fibre of one's being, it is impossible to forget it. 
When I overwork, as we all do sometimes, my 
head feels as it did then, and that picture comes 

U9 



before me like the painting of Dante's Inferno, 
and I am lost in wonder. I sometimes stop 
and think perhaps I have been dreaming all 
these years. Out of this furnace, "heated 
seven times hotter than it was wont to be 
heated," two factions of the American people 
were welded together in a Union which the 
whole world cannot again break asunder. 

I do not cherish toward our Southern breth- 
ren any spirit of hatred. They did not know 
what they were doing. Their eyes were not 
opened. They saw men like trees walking, but 
they did not give the Northern men credit for 
having brains and nerves and sensibilities. 
They had all their lives been accustomed to 
treating the black man as if he were not 
human, and because the Northern man sympa- 
thized with him in his slavery and distress the 
leaders of the South looked upon the Northern 
soldiers with the same haughty contempt, and 
those under them partook of their spirit. Were 
we to go to war with the South today, there 
would be no Andersonville or Libby prisons. 
The people have seen a great light. They 
were simply mistaken and misguided. 

In what I have written I have simply tried 
to show what men will do for the country they 
love; and to impress upon the minds of any 

120 



young person who may read this short story 
the thought that the great blessings of a free 
country, of the greatest country upon which 
the sun shines, and the greatest prosperity 
which any country ever experienced, was pur- 
chased with a great price. Mr. Lincoln, in 
his Gettysburg address, said, "The world will 
little note nor long remember what we say 
here, but it can never forget what they did 
here." 

If I have said something in this book which 
will help the young to remember what was 
done for them in the great conflict from 1861 
to 1865, I shall have succeeded in what I set 
out to do. 



121 



REMINISCENCE IN VERSE. 

Read Before the Veterans and Sons on Jan. 13, 1907. 
Detroit, Mich. 



Away in the mists of the dim distant past 

I see an army of boys coming afar. 
They come as the leaves when swept by the blast, 

Some riding, some walking, all ready for war. 

They come from the hills of the old granite state, 
From the plains where the father of waters sweeps by ; 

Some come from the city, the trade and the mart 
And some from the country of which they're a part. 

They have heard the call of the great Abraham, 
Leaving fathers and mothers and sisters to weep, 

They're going to war to help Uncle Sam 
Put the great demon of slavery to sleep. 

On and still on by thousands they come, 
The bugle has sounded, their hearts are on fire, 

They're ready to fight for country and home, 
Though their bodies are weary their souls never tire. 

They sweep through the city and hamlet and town, 
To the front is their watchword by day and by night; 

Though friends may look doubtful and traitors may 
frown 
They are still pressing forward to join in the fight. 

The smoke of the battle rises high o'er the plain. 
The roar of the cannon makes the earth tremble and 
quake, 

But nothing disturbs this onrushing train 
Of boys who've sworn all fetters to break. 

123 



Their bayonets gleam in the bright morning sun, 
Their sabers flash out like stars on the sea; 

The look in their eyes shows they're not out for fun, 
But what is their purpose the world shall soon see. 

They meet the gray line which comes up from the South, 
A line of their brothers as fearless as they; 

The world stops to see this clashing of youth, 
This greatest of conflicts 'twixt the blue and the gray. 

Vicksburg is taken, the South is unlocked, 

And the man of the hour has found his right place. 

The gray line has halted, their leaders are shocked, 
Lee and Grant must hereafter stand face to face. 

From beyond the great river which flows to the sea, 
To the ocean the Mayflower traversed so well, 

Stretch these lines commanded by Ulvses and Lee 
And they struggle and fight like the demons of hell. 

The blood of the North and the blood of the South 
Flow freely as water in one crimson stream; 

The quickly dug grave with wide open mouth 
Hides all traces so quickly it seems like a dream. 

The thinned ranks are filled by others as brave 
As those who have fallen with face to the foe ; 

They fear not the battle, they fear not the grave, 
Where'er they are ordered they fearlessly go. 

Sherman sweeps to Atlanta and then to the sea. 
Leaving cities and hamlets lying low in the dust. 

His watchword to all is : Follow thou me. 
We've burned all our bridges and conquer we must. 

The conflict is ended, the victory won, 
The blue line comes back, but all are not there. 

There's a regiment missing. It's leader is gone, 
The graves of the Wilderness have their full share. 
124 



Gettysburg swallowed up thousands of men, 
Who fought at the angle with bayonet and gun. 

Until it looked like a great slaughter pen, 

Each striving to conquer and neither would run. 

In the shade of the trees of his own native state, 
Lee, the great leader, surrendered his men. 

He had fought like a hero but at last met his fate 
And he signed the decree with a sweep of his pen. 

And Grant, the commander who never was whipped. 
Would not now exult o'er his fallen foe, 

But bade him and his men, with horses equipped. 
With a hearty Good speed, all homeward to go. 

Sherman came up with his men from the sea. 
Their faces were sunburned, their uniforms torn. 

But they joined with the rest in the great jubilee 
When the troops were reviewed at our Washington. 

Our Lincoln, the mighty, beloved by us all, 

Had fallen before the bright sun arose 
To shine on his glory. And alas, on his pall 

Fell the tears of the victors with the tears of his foes.. 

' t last it is over, peace reigns o'er the land; 
This great army of boys have grown to be men. 
braver, a truer or more daring band 
Shall never be mustered in this country again. 

Time slips by so softly we note not its flight, 
To-day the ranks of this army are thinning 

And these men who boasted of courage and might 
See now the destroyer the battle is winning. 

Their mantles are falling like leaves in the fall. 
They have kept them unsullied from traitorous deed, 

And soon their children must answer the call 
For men to come forward and water the se.ed 

125 



Which they planted in that bloody sea, 

With malice toward none and God's love for all, 

The doom of all traitors forever shall be 
The bullet, the hangman, the coffin, the pall. 

We ask you, dear boys, to run up the old flag, 
The brightest, the greatest the sun shines upon, 

And swear that you'll never once let it drag 
In the footsteps of treason nor let it go down. 

This flag which we wrung from the traitorous hand 

Is enshrined in a halo of peace. 
And we entrust it now to this noble band, 

May its brightness and glory never cease. 

You may not be asked to fight for the right 

On the fields of carnage and blood, 
But there's always a place for each one to fight 

For that which is noble and good. 

To stand for the right in everyday life. 

When oppression is showing its head. 
And take a hand in the world's busy strife 

Where men are fighting for bread 

Needs heads that are clear and hands that are strong 

And courage that never gives way. 
And hearts that are set like a flint against wrong 

And a voice that rings out for fair play. 

If your purpose be strong, your politics pure, 

And duty your first aim in life. 
Your step firm and steady, your aim and fire sure, 

You will certainly win in the fight. 

— TV. F. Lyon. 

126 









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